


Only the Devil can Help you out

by Laws



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Gore, M/M, apprentice!Lawrence, apprentice!adam, chainshipping - Freeform, horror elements probably, imserioussomepartsofthisgetkindagoreysopleasereadatyourownrisk, its 2020 and im here writing saw fanfiction I hope the fanbase isnt dead, some things are changed, the saw movies are mostly cannon but ofc adam is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22997665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laws/pseuds/Laws
Summary: The two of them sat on the edge of Lawrences bed, a death sentence at their heels. Come tomorrow, Lawrence could be made an accomplice to murder and Adam was being taunted with the same fate. So they held each other, finding what comfort they could in the others warmth.“Adam…” Began Lawrence, hushed and strained. He remembered Adam’s face in the bathroom. How scared he looked as Lawrence left, how he screamed his name, how he pleaded with his eyes for him to stay before asking-Are we gonna be okay?I wouldn’t lie to you.Lawrence meant it then, and he meant it as he wrapped his arms further around Adam, whose insistent shaking had not stopped. “Adam, we’re going to be alright. Somehow… Eventually, we’re going to be alright.”
Relationships: Adam Faulkner-Stanheight/Lawrence Gordon
Comments: 23
Kudos: 74





	1. October, 2010

The heavy door heaved back into place with a jolt and a metallic groan. Lawrence could still hear Hoffman’s screams, albeit muffled ones from within the locked bathroom. His throat would be bleeding raw by morning.

Lawrence turned heel and walked away.

The narrow hallways, slick with grime and tinted sludge, echoed in a staccato chorus of threes. One heavy step was followed by the tapping of a cane, then the third beat of a second step, only for the rhythm to repeat again. Down and down and down through the halls, without a word to break the remaining silence. 

He did not have to think much to navigate the labyrinthian sewers. His staggered gait knew exactly where each twist and turn would lead, where each path ended, where one could escape. He was so used to the damp walls, having spent so much time within them, that It hardly phased him anymore when he saw the blood. It was only blood after all, something the oncologist was rather familiar with. But every once and awhile, he would remember it was _his_ blood. _His_ blood, caked and sunken into the concrete in little red tendrils. It led all the way from the bathroom, through the halls, then up to heaven. 

Now, Dr. Lawrence Gordon, the renowned and confident Oncologist, with his neat blonde hair and delicate turquoise eyes, had one question firing like cannons within his head. After condemning another man to die, after abandoning him in a pitch black hell, after walking so casually away like he had just dropped his daughter off at school, he had but that _one_ question. He could not silence it, he could not call a cease fire and relish in the peace. He had no white flag to wave. So he continued on, eager to soon breathe some fresh air.

When he emerged from the sewers, looking just as he had when he had walked in dragging an unconscious corpse in his wake, he huffed a sigh. Something very akin to an exhausted sigh, or a frustrated sigh. It was all very informal. Like killing Hoffman had the same impact as getting gum off the bottom of your shoe. Where was the relief? The satisfaction of revenge? Where was any of it? His question returned, and with damaging force. He shook his head. It did not matter. It could not, not now.

Adam had been waiting in the car. Not Lawrence's car, but some cheap looking rental that spat black smoke from it’s muffler when you cocked the key to the right. Lawrence had told Adam it was to avoid suspicion, which he had understood. Though Adam would have _much_ preferred to wait in Lawrences air conditioned Mercedes. The one with heated seats and four doors- room for Diana, of course. 

Lawrence fell into the passenger seat without a word, tucked his cane in the back, and tried to ignore that pressing question. A piercing silence seemed to whir between them, before Adam piped up, sarcastic as ever. 

“Hope everything went well down there. You know, they say millions of people die each year from _rat attacks_. Can you believe that?” With some sort of hopeful sheen, Adam looked to Lawrence, waiting for a break in the cold exterior. It did not seem to be working. “I uhm-” He cleared his throat, and wrapped his fingers tighter around the steering wheel. There was another terrifying silence, until - “I was really worried.”

“About the rats?” Tried Lawrence, though still without any discernible expression. 

“Yeah, about the rats. I definitely wasn’t worried that good ol’ Hoffy was going to wake up too early and shove a knife in your spine. Or, that you would fall or some shit going down the stairs and black out, only to find _yourself_ chained back up just like before. I _for sure_ wasn’t worried about that. Or about how-”

“Adam…”

“- you could have been followed, maybe by another fucking crack head desciple of father Jigsaw, only to be drugged and taken and Kidnapped and hurt and-”

”Adam!” said Lawrence again, this time much more stern and concerned. This time with more force. This time with his hands laying on Adams cheeks, with his thumbs brushing over the tear streaked skin. “It’s over.”  
  
“Is it?” 

_”Yes.”_ Lawrence’s forehead was pressed to Adam’s now, and each of their breaths were slowly settling into a symmetrical pace. ” _Yes,_ it’s over Adam. _It’s over._ ”

With more paranoid words caught in his throat, Adam chose to swallow his tears and nod his head, listening to Lawrence. Listening to his hands and his voice, all reminders that they had somehow made it this far. Even after all the shit they had done, all the shit they _endured,_ they were still here. Together. Maybe sitting in a dusty car at 4 in the morning in the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse, but together.

Lawrence placed a gentle kiss on Adam’s forehead, then offered for them to head home. Lawrence was “. . . so exhausted my limbs feel like pancake batter.” and Adam was “. . . really hankering for some eggo’s waffles.” With all the talk of breakfast items, the car roared (or more so ticked) into life. The warehouse to their backs did not earn any second glance back. 

Lawrence had tried to hush his question, but the long ride home would not permit any such convenience for much longer. With the sun daring to rise and his eyelids heavy, he laid his head to rest on the cold car window. As golden lights wisped by in streaks, the same words continued their violent march.  
  
_How did I get here?_

How did he come to chain a breathing man up in the same place that had, and continues, to bring him such horror and pain? How did he end up with all the blood on his hands, the same hands that treated and cured patient after patient? How did all of the suffering and terror somehow lead him to one of the best things to ever happen to him, in the shape of a blue eyed, slick tongued photographer named Adam Faulkner? It was over; the puzzles, the trickery, the rivalry, the _games_. Though the onslaught remained.

_How, in the name of god, did I get here?_


	2. November, 2004

“Hey!  _ Hey! _ ” There were men crowded atop one another, leaning so far over the bar that their bellies touched the counter. An evening sun had the room drowning in an orange light, and drunkards had just been clinking sloshing glasses together. Though, the noise and chatter had all but come to a dead stop after the television behind the bar said the word  _ Jigsaw. _ “Come oooon, let me in! I can’t see!” 

Adam Faulkner, hardly a month out of the hospital, was pushing and weaseling his way closer to the screen. “Let me  _ seeee!”  _ Whined the blue eyed boy, squeezing past shoulders to get a better look. Something had him agitated. Something had his eyes wide and his chest tight, while the bartender wiggled a white cloth around the inside of a spotty mug. 

“ _. . . no, we have yet to receive any statements from Dr.Gordon himself. Although, he is reported to be alive and recovering. . .”  _

Adam shook his head in disbelief. Maybe it was a different Gordon! A different Gordon who also happened to be a doctor, that was it!  _ His _ Gordon had been missing for 28 days. He would know. He had been counting. 

“Someone turn it the hell up!” The bartender set down his rag and glass, before doing as Adam so angrily demanded.

The news anchor, a younger lady with shoulder length black hair, continued while looking deadpan into the camera.  _ “It seems that this marks the third documented Jigsaw survivor. The first, being Amanda Young, from six months back. Then-” _ Adam’s eyes shot to the ground. _ “- Adam Faulkner was the second to emerge as a survivor, just this past October. Reports say that Dr.Gordon had been with him while they both were held hostage by the notorious Jigsaw killer.”  _

Adam only remembered to blink once his eyes had begun to sting. He could not connect heads or tails together, he could not process a word the news anchor was saying. He just kept hearing the name  _ Dr.Gordon _ every time they said it. Still, he was struggling to attach the name to any kind of status. Did they finally find his body? Was he alive? What was his condition like? Where had he been this past month? Adam had to steady himself on the counter. None of this was making any sense.

The news report went on and on, sometimes divulging new information as it came in, sometimes recapping old information from the past year. Each mention of the word  _ Jigsaw _ made Adam shiver. By the end of it all, he had sweat through his shirt and was no longer sure he was breathing. The crowd had long since dispersed, losing interest as soon as it came, while Adam stood with his mouth agape at the bar. After listening long enough, he was able to get an okay picture.

Last night at around midnight, Dr.Lawrence Gordon, who had been missing since last month, had come limping through the Emergency Room doors, clinging onto the walls for support before essentially collapsing in the middle of the waiting room. His face was pale, his body was shaking. Yet, oddly enough, he was well dressed and relatively well groomed. Though even more peculiar was the makeshift prosthetic on his right foot, only made noticeable by the blood staining his pant leg. An entourage of nurses hurried him away, to face one of the most confusing trauma cases of their lives. 

Uponing removing the prosthetic, they were met by an old, mangled amputation, haphazardly bandaged with dampened dressings. At surface value, it looked as if  _ someone _ had tried to treat the wound themselves, and cover it up with a wooden faux foot, before calling it a day. Simply toss the rug over the stain. Not only was the wound underneath horribly disfigured, as if created by some dull blade, but it was also infected. The doctor was wise to have come into the Emergency Room, though perhaps he should have done so a month before. If only he had not been a hostage in an underground sewer, sipping tea with the Jigsaw killer himself.

Due to the severity of the infection, a surprising amount of necrotic tissue, and the overall disaster that was the wound, Dr.Gordon was rushed into surgery. He was relieved of most of his lower right leg, but was at least lucky enough to keep his knee. He had been in recovery ever since. 

Police were hoping to fill in some blanks once he was in a position to talk. Particularly  _ where _ he had been for the past month. It was no secret that he and Adam were in a “ _ Game _ ” together. Adam had told the police all he could. Lawrence shot him in the shoulder, hacked his foot off, promised to get help, then crawled away, leaving a trail of blood and Adam in the dark. He must have gotten help  _ somehow _ , considering Adam was alive to tell the tale, but he had been missing since he last saw him. Everyone assumed he was dead. His family was preparing a service. Regardless, there was his image on the news, all smiles and bright eyes from a time before it all. Adam figured they must have gotten the picture from his wife.

Adam, after willing himself to step away from the television, left the bar and hailed a taxi with his body on autopilot. He had to see something real to convince him this was happening, that Lawrence was alive. All this time he had figured his corpse was rotting in those sewers, and that all of it was in vain. The image of him screaming bloody murder while metal knawed at his ankle was haunting Adam like the plague. No matter how much he tried to drown it out, he could never sleep without seeing the blood splattering onto Lawrence's face, while he seethed like an animal. If it was not that, it was of Zep’s bashed in head and scattered brains, or of himself, threatened to starve to death, alone. In a dirty bathroom, of all places. 

If Lawrence really was alive, he had to talk to him. Adam was not even sure what he would say, or why he would say it. He just knew that it was something that he needed. To apologize or to cry or to simply scream would be satisfaction to some extent, even the semblance of closure would help to calm the tornado ripping through his head. 

So he climbed into the taxi, with his hands in his lap and his eyes still reflecting disbelief. 

“Where to?”

“Saint Eustace.” 

A hissing noise escaped Adam’s teeth as a sudden pain made him wince. He looked down to his hands, to see his thumbs and pointer fingers stained red. His nails were bleeding and raw, likely from unconscious picking. 

The taxi pulled into downtown traffic and was off towards the hospital, while that night in October replayed like a movie sequence behind Adam’s eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

“And your name, sir?” 

“Adam Faulkner.” His name had come out a little too assertive, but he was eager. He was surprised he was even able to visit, but of course he may have…  _ fibbed  _ a little.  _ Yes of course I called him beforehand. Yes, he wants to see me.  _

The lady behind the desk popped open the cap of a sharpie, jotted down his name on a sticky tag, then peeled it off. She handed it to him stuck to one finger, and he took it as a snake would strike a rat. He was antsy, pulling at his shirt, shuffling his feet and biting at the inside of his cheek. He still had yet to figure out what  _ exactly  _ he was doing. Just that he was doing it.

The lady wrote a few more things down on a sign in sheet, before looking back up to Adam. She pointed with a pen to some double doors on her left, then said “Take this hall down until you see the restrooms. After that, the ICU is the first door on the right. He’s in room 36.” Adam nodded, said a quick thanks, then hurried through the double doors.

⧫ ⧫ ⧫

He hesitated when he saw the little 36 by the door, denoting that  _ this  _ was the room. The door was slightly ajar, the room was dark, and Adam could hear no discernable sound besides the occasional beep from something he figured was a fancy hospital gadget. After all the eagerness to get here, all the rush and adrenaline, he found himself frozen in front of the door. Nausea overtook him. 

He was thankful the bathroom was nearby. 

After coughing up the last of whatever he had forced himself to eat earlier that day, he unfurled himself from the toilet with a scowl. He was not very fond of how certain things made him feel after  _ everything  _ that had happened. Sometimes, a car would honk on the street and he would hear a gunshot. He had ducked into an alley and dry heaved until he calmed down. He could not shut the lights off without his breathing becoming rapid and his hands shaking, and so he had taken to sleeping with them on. He did not understand it, and so, he tried to ignore it.

It did not work.

Adam brushed some stray brown hairs away from his eyes, before leaving the stall, his heart still pounding a little more than he would have preferred. With a weak pull, he turned on one of the faucets and splashed some water on his face, relishing in the coolness and hoping it made him look the least bit more presentable. He ducked down once, splashed his face, then looked up in the mirror. Unsatisfied, he ducked again, splashed his face, then back to the mirror. His heart nearly escaped his throat when he noticed the man behind him, over his shoulder in the reflection.

“Jesus christ!” If he had not caught himself on the sink counter, he would have fallen over. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry.” The man's voice was flat, but he seemed a little nervous. Darker looking hair fell messily around his temple and wrapped around his ears, making his green eyes all the more startling. He was taller than Adam, by quite a bit, and his dress resembled that of a 1980’s biker gang member. Band shirt, eyeliner, studded jacket and all. Though his most prominent feature must have been his eyes. He looked as if he had not slept in weeks. And he had yet to move from his place behind Adam.

“Are you- do you-??” The confusion on Adam’s face was obvious. “Do you need the sink? Or... something?” There were three other empty sinks. Three other soap dispensers, and one other paper towel holder. 

“Uh-” The taller man cleared his throat, then nodded without another word. Hesitantly, Adam slid out from between him and the counter, before hurrying out of the bathroom, an odd feeling on his back. Shaking his head, he returned to the door of room 36. 

It was, unsurprisingly, as he had left it, with the door slightly open with no light evident from where he stood. The nausea had yet to leave him, he figured he was just too exhausted to vomit any more than he already had. So, he gently laid a hand on the door, reluctant at first to push it open. Though, when it budged, and he saw this sliver of Lawrence, he was then able to open it the rest of the way. 

Stepping in, he could see that Lawrence was sleeping, or appeared to be at least. The room was filled with monitors and gadgets and things that Adam could not name, some with digital displays showing numbers and temperatures. He hoped they were good numbers and temperatures. The sun had fully set by now, but the curtains were still drawn tight, shutting out any lights from street lamps. It was nearly pitch black, save for illumination coming from the hall, which filled Adam with an all too familiar dread. Though knowing someone else was in the room seemed to sooth him in at least the slightest way. 

It was hard to see in the dark, but Lawrence himself, according to Adam’s judgement, looked like complete shit. In fact, he whispered just that. “Wow man…  _ you look like complete shit.  _ ” He had needles stuck in his arm leading to IV poles, a pulse monitor connected to one of the blinking screens, his hair was messy, and his face could compete with the pallor of a ghost. Adam stepped near, coming to the side of his bed. If one thing was certain, it was that he was alive.  _ Hardly  _ , thought Adam, but alive nonetheless. 

A gentle moment passed where Adam’s anxiety seemed to subside. He simply looked at Lawrence, the man he had presumed to be dead for a month, and let himself see he was breathing. He stood like that for what seemed like forever, until he allowed himself to sit in the armchair not too far from Lawrences bedside table. His eyes never left Lawrence while exhaustion crept over him, and his head lolled back in the chair.

⧫ ⧫ ⧫

“Mr.Faulkner?”

Adam bat his eyes, groaning, and his hands came up to his face to rub the sleep away. Some small looking man was bent over and in his face, one hand holding a clipboard, the other a pen. He must have turned the lights on. 

“Mr.Faulkner!” 

“Wh-... ye-yeah?” Coming to his senses, he realized he was still with Lawrence, who remained sleeping.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave. This is the Intensive care unit, not a Holiday inn, and visitation hours are past.” 

Adam’s first thought was something along the lines of-  _ wow. This guy is a dick.  _ Unfortunately, he was still too perplexed to express his disdain. Instead, he smartly replied with “oh.”

“Please, Mr.Faulkner, Dr.Gordon is very tired and-”

Then came a groggy, rough voice, sounding like what a pile of gravel looked like. “L-Let him…” There was a tired huff, before the now awake Lawrence tried speaking again, with more confidence and assertion. “Let him stay.”

The other doctor seemed annoyed. “But, Dr.Gordon, your condition is still very…  _ delicate  _ . It’s not a good idea for you to be having visi-”

“I understand my _ condition,  _ Dr.Newman  _.”  _ Interjected Lawrence once more, making the short man close his mouth abruptly. “But he can stay.”

Adam was silent during their exchange. He had always heard that doctors made the worst patients, and he was beginning to see why that might be true. Lawrence gave Adam a look with his eyes half closed, before returning his gaze to Dr.Newman, addressing him in a way that expressed he would not be questioned. Regardless, he still had a polite air about him. “Could you please give us a minute, Dr.Newman?”

“Dr.Gordon I really must-”

“ _ I said,  _ I would like to have a minute with Mr.Faulkner.  _ Please.” _

Once Dr.Newman had figured out there was no use in arguing, he huffed, threatened that he would be back soon, then stormed out of the room. Lawrence smiled as the door clicked in place behind him. 

“Adam,” started Lawrence, making Adam jump at the sound of his name. “-if you could so kindly take that chair to your right-” he weakly lifted his hand, the one with the pulse monitor, and gestured to the chair. “-and lodge it underneath the door handle.”

Adam, albeit confused, and fairly convinced he may still be dreaming, did as Lawrence said. He supposed he really did not want his doctor returning soon. The chair was used to block the door, then Adam returned to Lawrences side, though electing to stand rather than resume his seat in the armchair. Neither of them said a word. Lawrence looked to Adam here and there, before this awkward tension forced his eyes away. The peace Adam had felt while he was sleeping was gone. Suddenly, an awake and alert Dr.Lawrence Gordon was much more daunting than an asleep one. 

Instead of jumping right into the pit of  _ where have you been! _ 's and  _ I thought you were dead! _ 's, Adam chose not to bombard him with questions. At least, not just yet. His curiosity would get the best of him sooner or later. 

It was odd, Adam thought, that neither of them really  _ knew _ each other. Sure, he had stalked Lawrence around with a camera, but he learned little more than how he liked his coffee in the morning and the fact that he was cheating. Lawrence only knew of Adam what he had divulged in the bathroom, and even that was hardly anything to go off of. These were two very different men, who, in reality, hardly knew each other at all. Though they each had this foreign feeling that made them feel as if they knew each other better than anyone else did. Maybe it was the stress of the situation, and that only the two of them would really ever understand. They were strangers, sure, but strangers with a rare comprehension of the other. They had met in the mouth of hell, and now, in the more gentle environment of the hospital, both were at a loss on how to act. Lawrence spoke first, his voice still weak and rough. 

"How's the... shoulder?" The blue of Lawrence's eyes could not meet Adam's. He felt too much guilt. 

Adam had a sideways smile stretched over his face, before shrugging. "Not bad actually!" He could sense Lawrence's apprehension, so he made a show of moving his shoulder the best he could. "See?" He rolled his shoulder back, shook his arm, and tried to hide the wince. "Pretty great, huh? Good as new." Lawrence looked upon him with scrutiny, lifting his head as much as he could before opening his mouth to speak. Adam, not wanting  _ another _ doctors lecture, blurted out the first thing he could think of to shut him up. It was already out of his mouth before he realized it might not have been appropriate to ask just yet.

“How’s the foot?”

The doctor's eyes rolled. Not that he was annoyed with Adam, no. It was safe to say he was just generally frustrated at the situation, and rightfully so. With the most smart-ass tone he could muster, he responded with “Gone.” Adam snickered, and Lawrence smiled. He let a beat pass, before deciding to humor Adam. 

“The surgeon had to cut away most of the rest of my lower leg due to an infection, and my shitty amputation job.” Dark humor usually was not Lawrence’s specialty, but he found it helped him to get his words out without choking on fearful tears. “I’ll hopefully be out of the ICU here soon… then, they’ll likely keep me here for a couple of weeks until I'm healed up enough to go home.”

Adam nodded his head, throwing a quick glance to where Lawrences leg should have been beneath the blankets. The doctor seemed way too composed for Adam to understand, which made him all the more nervous in turn. Little taps sounded off in the room as his foot started bouncing up and down under Lawrences bed. “So you’ll be going back home to Alison then?” It was a stupid question, but Adam was still trying to avoid the big one’s, almost waiting to see if Lawrence would just bring it up himself. 

At the mention of Alison, Lawrence's face turned somber. It was hard to believe he could look more tired than he had before, but at that moment, his eyes appeared darker and his cheeks all the more pale. “I don’t know. Allison hasn’t come in yet.” Hurt bore through like a needle in his expression. The previous cool in his disposition was slowly slipping, and Adam stepped closer to the bed, shocked to hear he had yet to see Alison. He figured she would have been the first to come. “I-I-I haven’t-” Lawrence had to stop himself. He took a deep breath and blinked as rapidly as he could, trying to hide the glossy beads of tears forming in his eyes from Adam. “I have yet to see Diana. Alison hasn’t brought her.”

_ Diana… his daughter.  _ Adam thought back to the photo he had found in Lawrences wallet. Allison and Diana, bound in black, terror shooting back at and through the camera. The only reason Lawrence was laying in a hospital bed and not locked behind that metal door was because of them. He had done it all, from shooting Adam to mutilating his own body, for them. 

_ And they had yet to visit him? Weren't they worried? They were considering holding a funeral for christs sake!  _

Lawrence must have noticed Adam’s change in expression, which was now painted with anger and shock, because he quickly added “But I’m sure she’s just… busy. Or confused. Or-”

“Lawrence, she’s your wife! She shouldn’t be too busy to visit her  _ severely ill _ husband in the fucking ICU with your daughter!”

“Adam…” 

“Do you want me to call her? I’ll talk to her. Give me her number, I’ll try to-”

“Adam, please!” The tears that had been threatening to break before had slowly begun trailing down the sides of the doctors cheeks. “I was a shitty husband. I slept with another woman and got us all in trouble for it. Alison and Diana could have been  _ killed _ , because of me. I can’t… I-I can’t- I can’t-” He was struggling to get the words out, his chest starting to heave as his eyes were drowned in red. “I can’t blame her for not w-wanting to s-s-see me, Adam. I can’t. It’s my f-”

_ “Don’t you fucking dare say it’s your fault. _ ” Adam had grabbed Lawrence’s hand without realizing he had done so. He would not let Lawrence sit there and blame himself for the actions of a twisted murderer and his demented henchmen. The doctor opened his mouth, likely to argue, but was soon hushed by Adam whispering “ _ Don’t.” _ Lawrence swallowed hard, then squeezed the hand that was in his. 

No matter how many times Lawrence tried to swallow the tears, or bite his tongue, or hold his breath, none of it could have prevented him from finally snapping. It was frightening for Adam, who was always dreadful at comforting people, to stand wordless while the older of the two shook. His face was red, the collar of his shirt was growing wet, and Adam was awfully aware of the doctors misery permeating the room. The man was told to face his sins, and when he did so, he lost a limb, had his wife and daughters lives put in danger, was (presumably) held hostage for a month, and was now sobbing in a cold hospital room without any semblance of family. The grief he was experiencing now would not be leaving him alone any time soon. 

Adam threw his original goal of finding out where he had been out the window. He clearly was in no position to talk about it, and as eager as Adam was, he could wait. 

Neither of them were sure how much time had passed when Lawrence’s breathing began to return to normal, but Adam’s hand was still in his. Lawrences soft whimpers and sniffling promoted Adam to ask with concern “Can I… get you anything? Like… like a uh… tissue? Or something?” 

“Actually…” began Lawrence, sounding drowned by snot and tears. “I think… I t-think a tissue would be n-nice, thank you.” 

Adam slowly slid his hand away from Lawrence’s, much to Lawrence’s discontent. He ducked into the bathroom and returned with a generic brand tissue box, handing it to Lawrence with a soft, genuine question. “Would this be easier if I left?”

Lawrence had never shook his head so fast in his life. “No!  _ Please stay.” _ Upon realizing how desperate he sounded, he looked away from Adam, embarrassed, before stammering to add “I-if you want to t-that is. I don’t want to keep you.”

“Keep me from what? Saturday Night Live and expired potato chips?”

Lawrenced laughed through the remaining cries. 

“Nah man. I can stay.”

Lawrence smiled, and Adam sat back down in the armchair. He did, however, scoot it closer to Lawrence’s bed, so that his hand was once again in reach. 


	4. Chapter 4

It felt like the walls were shaking and the ground was falling away beneath him.

How far had he gone? Was he just out of the door? Was he close to an exit? Adam… his screaming… Was it real?

_ Was any of it real? _

One. Two. Three. He moved his arm forward, reaching ahead of him on the ground- one. His other arm came to meet the first, caked in blood which had begun to dry- two. Then, his good leg moved up, only to push him as far forward as he could muster- three. The rest of him was painting the ground red. The only reason he knew he was not going in circles, was because he kept the trail of blood behind him. 

The doctor heard the gunshot pounding in his ears as his chest dragged across the floor. The foot he had severed off some indiscernible time ago burned like a brand into his eyes. He figured he was making some sort of noise, maybe a whimper, maybe a scream, but the blood loss was ruining his logic. Up was down, left was right, the sky must have been black and his pain was so extreme he felt like his soul was separated from his body. As if it had already given up, and left without even a note on the fridge.

One, two, three,  _ one, two, three-  _ the counting was the only thing that kept him conscious. He knew he would be dead soon. His makeshift tourniquet had only done so much, and one could never destroy a major artery like the femoral and walk away on hope alone. The more he moved, the more the blood poured out of him, filling the holes in the concrete like air fills a room. 

There was a sound. Something sharp, something hot. For a brief second, he thought he saw a hissing snake, black and thin and intertwined in the pipes coming in and out of his vision. The delusion lingered, the snake reared its nasty head, bared razor like fangs the same ebony color that was its skin, then snapped its head back to strike. His eyes instinctively shut, preparing for a bite, preparing for some definitive end to his suffering. He tried. He tried  _ so hard. _ He could at least give himself that. 

A second ran past without a thing happening. The hissing sound still persisted, growing louder and louder, but no lethal bite met the doctor. The hissing sounded more like a scream now, high pitched and wheezing, and he dared to open his eyes. There was no snake.  _ Of course, there was no snake _ , thought the doctor, now again met with the image of the pipes. The old corroded metal was squeezing out grey steam, which flew to the ceiling and made his brow sweat. The pipe was red in some places where the metal was weak, and the air around it shimmered with blistering heat.

Not another moment passed before he took the bleeding, sputtering stump of his leg and pressed it hard against the pipe. There was no smell more putrid then burning flesh and blood. There was no sound more alarming than his scream while the skin on what his mid calf seared black. Smoke circled around him, and just as fast as the scream escaped his jaw, it was cut off by a choke. 

An echo rang throughout the hall when his head smacked against the floor. His body was finally overwhelmed by the pain, allowing the doctor the reprieve of unconsciousness.

Down the hall, someone else had not stopped screaming. 

⧫ ⧫ ⧫

“Congratulations, Dr.Gordon.  _ You survived _ .”

⧫ ⧫ ⧫

He was alone when he awoke with the taste of metal on his tongue. 

His mouth hurt. His back was sore. The entirety of his lower torso was tingly and numb. He could not feel his right leg. If it was not for his wife and daughter, and his promise to Adam, he would have rather been dead. 

It took him a few minutes to realize his surroundings, which hardly classified as such. The walls were the same putrid grey-green of the halls he was found in. There was only one entrance that he could see, a doorless opening that seemingly and predictably led to more dark. He was laying on an old hospital bed that looked like it was stolen from a 19th century asylum, and his wrists were bound in leather restraints from the same vein. There was leather in his mouth too, tucked between his teeth and muffling his whimpers and groggy attempts at the word  _ “Adam. _ ”

If there had been any strength left in him when the figure appeared in the doorway, he might have lunged, or cursed, or struggled. However agitated and furious as he was, he could not express it. It was torture enough to move his eyes, slowly and half lided, up to view the figures face. Once more, with all he could muster, he spoke a word, swallowed by the leather pressing against his tongue. " _ Adam." _

“Adam did not have your will to live, Dr.Gordon.” Came the figure, cold and with no detectable emotion in his hoarse voice. 

The doctor stirred, but only for a short time, before the exhaustion once more overtook the anger. The air was made poison between them. 

“You, on the other hand, have demonstrated that you are willing to make certain…  _ sacrifices, _ to preserve the integrity of life.”

He did not like the voice. It made his blood (or what was left of it) run cold, like the winter had moved into this room and this room alone. He gave another jolt to his restraints, growling almost against the leather, before the figure took another step in. The doctor was seething. Such hate looked foreign in his usual bright eyes, but its intensity in that moment could have burned the sun itself. 

“You are not my prisoner.” started the venomous voice again, stepping closer and undoing one of his wrist restraints. “Although, I must ask that, in time, we discuss some things.” there was a yank at the second restraint, and the doctor’s hands balled into fists. Though he knew he could not strike, not now. He was still far too weak. “I understand, you must be upset. This is to be expected, but I assure you, Dr.Gordon-” with a final tug, the leather was ripped out from between the doctors teeth, and the figure brought his face close to the others. “- that you will thank me one day. I have given you a new chance at life.”

Now, with his mouth free, the doctor tested his voice. “I need-” a cough ripped through his throat, which was already sore from his screaming. He winced, before trying again, looking dead at the figure. Despite how close he was, his features were still shrouded, maybe by the doctors blurry vision, maybe the black and red cloak adorning his person. “D… D-Diana, I need to… I need… my daught-… my d…  _ diana? Where is she? _ ” He had hardly muttered a sentence and a half, and he was already out of breath. 

“She is safe, I assure you. Although I suggest you save your strength.”

The doctor did not listen “and… A-A-adam… I need t-to get… him..  _ Out _ … I-i-i prom… p-p _ -promised _ …”

“I know.”

Each syllable came weaker and weaker, barely considerable as whispers, while his eyes strained to stay open. “I  _ promised _ . L-let… let him… l-let him… go… he lived p-p-past the t-t-time… j-just… get h-him… help. I s-shot h-h-him...”

“I know. And, No.”

"Why _?” _ There was a silent beat, before the doctor repeated with all the hurt of a wounded animal, “ _ Why?” _

It had yet to fully register in his mind that he was still in immediate danger. Out of the frying pan, into the fire. The figure hovering above him was his assailant, his kidnapper, the orchestrater behind it all, and he knew that. It was then that the figure before him was no longer a figure, but the demon the news had referred to as Jigsaw. The shock of it all was lying in wait, and would come in waves. One minute, he was mumbling about Adam, tired and only just hanging onto consciousness. The next, he was practically screaming at his captor, to which he got no satisfactory response. Only chiling comments like “ _ Remember, you are not my prisoner.”  _ and  _ “Let me know when you are ready to talk.” _

Two days passed like this. When the doctor was too tired to struggle or plea for Adam, the figure, Jigsaw, would come with wet rags and crude tools which he used to “clean” the mangled remnants of his leg. Jigsaw’s hands were skilled, but in matters of engineering and carpentry. Not in medicine. It was not long before the infection took, causing all the more pain and grief for the doctor. 

Another day or so later, Jigsaw was pulling laces tight around where the doctors leg cut off, never flinching once while his subject gasped in prolonged agony. He was fitting a makeshift prosthetic, with beautiful craftsmanship, maybe, but nothing appropriate for such a fresh and unhealed wound. The doctor tried to correct him, instruct him, to beg him to let him get some actual medical help and to see his family, as he was supposedly  _ not a prisoner _ . Be that as it may, Jigsaw seemed to be treating the ordeal as another test. He was not dumb. He knew the great physical and mental pain the doctor was in. He solely would not appease him in any way until he had the conversation he so desired. 

With his stomach twisted upside down, the doctor swallowed hard, trying to ignore how loudly his own pulse was pumping in his ears. He had just enough energy now to speak, but that was all. Physically, he was still grounded to his bed, less he wanted to attempt crawling again. He had, although, managed to at least sit up. 

He spoke with anger seeping through every word. 

_ “What do you want?” _

Jigsaw’s back was turned, so his head cocked back to look at the doctor with a smile.

“To talk.”

“About  _ what. _ ”

Still in his black cloak, Jigsaw then turned his whole body to face the doctor. “I would like you to consider something.” One of his hands reached into a pocket, before revealing a sealed, white envelope. “You need not open it now.” Jigsaw outstretched his hand, not yet handing it to the doctor, whose face was twisted in confusion, but offering him the option to take it.

“Dr.Gordon. I want to play a game.”

If the doctor got to choose any one man's tongue to cut out, it would be Jigsaw’s. Despite his anger, and his heart threatening to stop dead in his chest, he knew he needed to listen. So he let him continue, anxiety bringing another smothering layer of fear to him.

“The rules are simple… and I think you may like this one.” The doctor could have sworn he saw that snake from the pipes in Jigsaw’s eye.

“Should you take this envelope, after you leave here, you will soon be presented with a choice. You may choose to refuse or accept my offer, though I believe I know the choice you will make.”

The doctor eyed the envelope, his chest beginning to rise and fall more rapidly than before. JIgsaw continued.

“Do know, Dr.Gordon, that the contents of this envelope ask a favour of you. And, know, that if you take this envelope now, I will call for an ambulance for Adam. He’s still alive. They can be here within fifteen minutes.”

The doctor lunged for the envelope then, but Jigsaw whipped it backwards and out of his reach.

“Please, listen to the rules, Dr.Gordon.”

His calm tone was unnerving. The revelation that Adam was still alive had the doctor sweating, clinging onto this hope that he could keep his promise. He did as Jigsaw asked, more eager now to listen than before. He was exactly where Jigsaw needed him.

“You may also refuse this envelope. Adam will die where we last left him, and you may leave when you get your strength to do so. In fact, you may leave in both scenarios. The only difference between the two, is that in one, you take this envelope, are offered a choice, and Adam may live. The other, you are never burdened with the contents of this envelope, and Adam dies. ” 

The doctor was confused. The decision was obvious, was it not? If he did not even have to accept whatever this offer was, why did it matter? He could hear his pulse again, feverish and loud and screaming. Seeing his confusion, Jigsaw spoke once more, then left the doctor to his devices. 

“There are no tricks. Make your choice.”

⧫ ⧫ ⧫

The police stormed the building that night, and Adam Faulkner was rushed to the emergency room. Jigsaw had taken himself and the doctor somewhere they were not to be found. 25 days behind Adam, the doctor had just enough strength to dress himself in some proper clothes, and, per Jigsaw’s word, he was allowed to leave. He received some instruction that he did not understand- do not call an ambulance, and do not open the envelope until he was notified to do so. He did not plan on being killed after getting this far, and so, he obeyed, stumbling into a taxi while his wound broke open before eventually collapsing on the emergency waiting rooms floor. He had the envelope tucked in his pant pocket.

⧫ ⧫ ⧫

“And you have no clue what it is?”

“Nope.”

Adam stood behind Lawrence, using one hand to lean against the handle of his wheelchair, the other to shield his eyes from the sun. Lawrence had begged Adam to get him out of his hospital room (he had thankfully been moved out of the intensive care unit four days prior) so he convinced his doctor to let them take a little stroll. Little did Adam know that Lawrence was wanting to unpack where he had been over the past month. Adam was less ready than he previously thought.  _ Much _ less ready. 

Lawrence held the envelope in his lap, twirling it with his thumbs, which were shaking from telling Adam the full story. Adam was shaking too.

That morning, Lawrence had received a bouquet of flowers from the hospital's gift shop. The purple  _ fluer de lis _ flowers were beautiful, sure.

Though it was the attached note that said " _ open it _ ." That made Lawrence drop and shatter the vase. 


	5. Chapter 5

" _ Why the hell did you take it?" _

The day was exceptionally warm for November, with a light breeze ruffling fallen leaves. Lawrence's doctor did not want Adam taking him anywhere far, fearing he was still too weak for any sort of long excursion. So, they had opted to utilize the hospitals courtyard, which was empty besides them. It was not much, considering the space constraints of a hospital in New York City, but it was nice. A small fountain made of stone sat in the middle, clearly a little neglected but operational nonetheless. It held pennies at its base, which reflected orange and bronze in the sun. A variety of flowers hung from wooden trellises, giving the space an elegant Victorian feel.

Adam, upon seeing it, noted how much he preferred this over the rancid bathroom stuck in his thoughts. 

Lawrence looked up to Adam, the envelope still folded in his hands. Something akin to confusion was in his expression, though Adam could not fully read him. The blonde doctor furrowed his brows. “What… do you  _ mean _ , why did I take it?”

Whereas Lawrence’s expression was up to interpretation, Adam’s was not.  _ He _ was clearly angry, complete with a scowl and red in his cheeks. 

He was dressed in a baggy white shirt and a muted flannel, with some overly big jeans as bottoms. He had gotten dressed in a hurry when Lawrence called- not that he would have looked any nicer had he been given time. 

The red in Adam’s cheeks brightened, and he shook his head, gesturing to the envelope in Lawrences hands. “I  _ mean _ exactly what I fucking said! Why did you take it? You have no clue what it could be!” Adam let go of Lawrences wheelchair, taking some frustrated steps towards the fountain, his back to Lawrence. 

Lawrence, shocked at Adam’s reaction, watched him with unease. He had no idea how he would respond to the whole story of Jigsaw and his conditional offer, but he was not expecting  _ anger _ . He went to speak, though he was not sure of what, before Adam beat him to it.

Having turned back around to face Lawrence, he stood across from him by the fountain. “It could be another... fucking… I don’t know, a game or some shit! Or maybe it's blackmail, or poison! It could explode or whatever when you open it!”

“Adam, I very much doubt that it will  _ explode _ .”

“You don’t know that!” Adam was pacing now, taking unsteady, deep breaths. “You don’t!”

With a heavy sigh, Lawrence rubbed at his temples. He was looking better, at least better than before, though still dawning the exhausted eyes. Some of the color had returned to his face, and he had his hair neatly brushed and parted. Alison had  _ finally _ come to visit with Diana on day three, bringing him some clothes and personal items from home. He wore his usual layers of clothing over a pale blue dress shirt, which Adam did not like. It was too similar to what he was wearing while they were playing a remarkably unpleasant game of cat and mouse with Jigsaw. 

At some point within his pacing, Adam’s hands had gone to his head, grabbing at his tangled, dark hair. A breeze washed some leaves under his feet, then Lawrence filled the silence. 

He was sincere. It made Adam stop in his tracks. “I  _ promised _ I would get you help. That’s all I was doing.” For better or for worse, Lawrence had  _ just _ enough energy for his snark to return to him. “So, forgive me, Adam, for deciding  _ not _ to leave you to your death.”

“Don’t blame this on me!” Adam took a step towards Lawrence, who had not moved from his spot.

Lawrence raised his voice for the first time in their conversation, growing more irritated at Adam’s own frustration. “Blame  _ what _ on you? We don’t even know what  _ it _ is!” 

Each of the men eyed the other, with Adam stepping close. There was a mutual understanding that this was a futile exchange. Adam blinked, realizing he had bent down to Lawrence’s level, then whispered, “This is stupid.”

Lawrence sighed. “Glad we can agree on that.”

The air settled, and, after perhaps too many seconds of Adam observing Lawrence’s features, he straightened his posture and turned back around. With a huff and a frown, he sat himself on the edge of the fountain, and shrugged. “Well fuck.” His leg bounced on the ground. “What happens if you don’t open it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Will  _ he _ , like, kill you?”

_ “I don’t know.” _

“Will he kill  _ me?” _

“I. Don’t. Know.” 

Adam frowned. Then, it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he would not be allowed to know what was inside anyways. He imagined Lawrence’s conversation with Jigsaw, what his instructions were. Maybe Jigsaw had a set of rules, starting with-  _ Rule #1, don’t tell anyone anything about this. Especially Adam. Particularly and most importantly, do not, under any circumstances, share this with Adam Mackenzie Faulkner. _

Kicking his feet a bit, the younger man decided he might as well ask. “Am I even supposed to know about this?”

Lawrence responded matter of factly, leaning back a bit to readjust. “Actually, I was told you’re the only person who's  _ supposed _ to know about this.”

This shook Adam even more than he already had been. This frustrated and worriful look washed over him, and he mumbled, particularly peeved, “ _ Jesus fucking chirst…”  _ His hands had returned to pulling at his hair.

Some time passed. Adam, now not only afeared for Lawrence, but for himself as well, let everything sink in. He had to recap to himself what Lawrence had told him early, about how he could always refuse what the envelope had to offer. Then… could it really be so bad? Were they both just being paranoid? Justifiably so, but paranoid regardless? 

Adam moved some dark strands of hair away from his eyes, before pinning his gaze on Lawrence, who looked back at him with this gentle sort of concern. Another beat passed, before Adam caved. “Alright. Open it.”

Lawrence nodded, and with trembling fingers, neatly unfolded the envelopes top. Gingerly, he slid out a pale peice of paper, which had been folded precisly in half. Lawrence opened it with caution, weary that Adam could be right in regards to it exploding. Thankfully, it did no such thing. 

He read it, _it_ being a handwritten letter, to himself first. Adam watched him like a hawk. He could see no change in Lawrence to begin with, but then, it was evident that his shaking had grown exponentially. Small tears slipped down his cheeks, although he made no audible sounds of crying. Patience was quickly leaving Adam. When Lawrence’s eyes finally finished grazing the letters contents, he folded it in half, hiding the words. Adam noticed him gulp, then wipe away at his eyes, a cold sort of shock seeping into his veins. 

“So???” Questioned Adam, leaning so far forward he was about to slip off of the fountains edge. “What does it say???” 

Lawrence said nothing. He simply held the letter in his hand, and gestured it towards Adam, who jumped up and snatched it from his grasp. Lawrence looked down at his lap, giving Adam time to read it. He had yet to really process its words.

Adam fumbled to open it, uncoordinated and stressed, before he was greeted by neat, small handwriting. Then, he read to himself-

_ “Dear Dr.Gordon, _

_ I must preface this letter with a reminder. You may choose to refuse or decline the offer contained within these words. You are in control of your life now, I have given you that gift. This is your choice.” _

The pomp in Jigsaw’s tone made Adam feel sick. He continued.

_ “My work, as you may have gathered, is of great import to me. I am helping people, as I have helped you. Though, there is only so much I can do on my own. Should you, as my doctor, remember the name John Kramer, you will know I am dying of terminal cancer. Even with my eventual death, my work will continue, I assure you. I have already made arrangements in regards to this matter in the form of apprentices. Though I fear these arrangements may prove to fail me. _

_ You, Dr.Gordon, have the potential to be my greatest asset. My skills as an engineer and a mathematician have aided me in my work, allowing me to create beautiful machines of redemption, such as the device that saved the life of Ms. Amanda Young. You may recall her and, and you may recall the device, as I know you were previously called in for questioning. I should know. One of my apprentices planted your pen light at one of my games, upon my request. I apologize for this inconvience." _

A nervous glance shot to Lawrence, who suddenly felt very far away. He was completely still, and his eyes had not left his lap. The more Adam read, the more his heart pounded under his ribs.  _ Where was this letter going? _

_ “Your skills as a surgical oncologist would be immeasurably valuable to me. There are games, trials, traps, if you will, that I would like to arrange. I admit, I, neither my current apprentices, have the ability to perform what I would need to be performed. You, on the other hand, could. You, Dr.Gordon, you could be vital to my work, providing something that niether I nor them have been able to.” _

“Holy shit…”

“ _ My offer is this. Work with me as I have worked with you. My release of Adam was not only a gesture of good will, as I know your promise to him meant a lot to you, but a test within itself. You could have refused this letter, this knowledge of who I am and what I want, and left Adam to die. Though you decided to help him, as I know you will decide to help others, by my side as my most advantageous apprentice.  _

_ If you agree, I will grant you something I have not offered any of my other apprentices, as I have never asked as much from them. You see, they were more willing then I assume you to be, and, they do not offer your specific set of skills. For that reason, as I am a rational man. . .” _

Jigsaw calling himself rational would, under different circumstances, have made Adam laugh. He did not laugh now.

_ “. . . I am willing to offer both you and Adam immunity. From me, from my apprentices, from it all. Should you, of course, follow my rules.  _

_ Should you decline my offer, I am sure you understand this immunity will not be given. I must remind you that Adam has yet to… truly pass one of my tests. There is more opportunity for him to learn, for him to truly regain control of his miserable life. I have no qualms providing that opportunity for him, or for other people in your life, should the need arise. Your wife, Alison, was a little too accepting of your disappearance. I am sure there is a lesson to be learned there.  _

_ As I have already told you, you may share this letter with Adam, as he may be able to help you make the right decision. A decision, which I again emphasize, is one you are free to make.  _

_ It goes without saying, but should you or Adam go to the police (or anyone besides Adam, for that matter) with this letter, I will assume you have declined my offer, and will accept any consequences that come with your choice. Should you, on the other hand, keep the contents of this letter private and accept my offer, I will be seeing you soon. Do not worry. I will allow you time to heal, but then, I expect us to begin. _

_ You are the crucial missing piece that I need for my work.”  _

__ Adam now understood why Lawrence was still sitting in shock.

_ “Yours sincerely, John” _


	6. Chapter 6

After that day in the courtyard, there was not another breath that mentioned the envelope and its letter. It hung above Lawrence and Adam both, knowing eventually it would come to fruition. Lawrence felt as if he was marching towards death.

Adam did not feel much differently.

A week had passed since then, and Lawrence was finally discharged from the hospital. He would have another month or two of healing to do back home, then, he could make an appointment to be fitted for a proper prosthetic. He could, hopefully, be walking within a year, should no complications arise. His doctors reminded him how _lucky_ he was, lucky that the infection did not spread too far, lucky that they were able to at least save his knee. He had to bite his tongue every time. As much as he tried to hide it, he was not adjusting well to his limited mobility.

Alison had picked him up from the hospital, without a lick of any clear expression. Diana was still at school, leaving the two dreadfully alone on the ride home. They had not passed two stop lights before the word “ _divorce”_ had escaped Alison’s lips. It came to no surprise to either of them, but Lawrence was at least hoping it could wait until some things had blown over. Alison, clearly, did not share the same sentiment. 

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

Adam had made a habit of visiting Lawrence at Saint Eustace, and, considering his precarious predicament involving a one John Kramer, he wanted to keep in contact. Although they did not speak of it, Adam knew how much it, _the letter,_ was understandably stressing the doctor out. 

Although Lawrence’s decision was inevitably his, it was hard to argue that he had not been backed into a corner. It was as Adam had so lovingly said in the courtyard- “ _Dude… he’s got you by the balls.” Work as my apprentice or endanger everyone around you._ Lawrence may have had a nasty ego, though Adam gathered he would never put his wife (no matter her coldness) or his daughter in danger again. Adam, of course, had been directly threatened as well, but it was hard to believe that Lawrence would have any reason to protect him a second time. So he chose to ignore it all the best he could, as if the letter was simply paper and ink, and not Lawrence’s invitation to homicide. 

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

It was around eleven in the evening when Adam’s silver flip phone began to buzz in his pocket. He had just walked through the door of his apartment, covered in sweat and half-dried paint from his new _job_ , if he could even call it that. A friend of a friend of a girl he once knew offered him odds and ends jobs when they were available, and it was at least _something_ for Adam. He may have been behind on a variety of bills, _sure,_ but it was not for lack of trying.

“ _Shitshitshitshitshit-”_ Patting down the sides of his blue jeans, the phone buzzing all the while, Adam fumbled to grab at it. He proved successful only after cursing some more, and managing to get a ridiculous amount of paint all over his hands. 

“Carlyyyyy-!” He began nervously, his hand reaching to scratch behind his neck. “I _know_ you wanted me to finish the outside tonight, but I swear I’m gonna bust my ass to get it _all_ done tomorrow. I just-” He glanced at his own shoulder. “-had some problems reaching some places, but i’m borrowing a ladder that i’ll bring tomorrow. I got this Carly, don’t you even worry.”

Where Adam had expected his “boss” to reply in her usual understanding but firm tone, came a voice that did not even belong to her. 

“Adam? Is this… a bad time?” 

Adam sighed a breath of relief. It was Lawrence, with his usual groggy and rough voice. They had talked over the phone many times during Lawrence's hospitalization, especially during the evenings. Lawrence had once divulged it made him feel less isolated, considering Alison’s visits with Diana were far and few between. 

“Sorry to call so late.”

With the anxiety of his boss on the phone gone, Adam started to move about his apartment, stripping off dirty layers of clothing with one hand while holding the phone in the other. Tip toeing around the mess of his apartment would have been a task for anyone else, but Adam moved about the room with surprising grace as if he knew the location of every misplaced shirt, lone sock and empty soda can. “No! It’s not a bad time at all! I would be up anyways, it’s no problem... What’s up?” 

Adam heard Lawrence hesitate to speak, and got this silly image of him fiddling with the phone cord on the other end, like in some bad 80’s romcom. After a moment of stillness, he spoke.

“I was just… wondering if you... happened to maybe want to… _do_ something.”

Adam looked confused. He knew _all_ about New York’s nightlife, and he ought to. However, something told him that seedy bars and risque night clubs were far from the tastes of an oncologist in his 40’s. “Like uh… as in…?”

“Well I- I know it’s fairly _late_ , and believe me, I would much rather make plans than sporadically leave my house at nearly midnight, but-...” 

During Lawrence’s pause, Adam plopped down on his couch, concerned at the hesitation in the voice on the other end of the phone. It would be a lie if Adam said he did not worry about how Lawrence was fairing back at home. The tension between him and Alison was far too obvious. 

“...but, well, I just have this…? I’m not sure, I just feel like I need to do _something._ Like if I sit here any goddamn longer-... I don’t know.”

Adam frowned. He knew being cooped up in the hospital had bothered him, but he did not fully realize that he would likely _remain_ cooped up once he got home. He figured maybe the change in scenery would help, but now that he thought about it, his problems with Alison likely only made things worse.

“If I was younger I would probably… go get a tattoo or something.”

 _That_ caught Adam’s attention. “ _You have a tattoo?”_ He chuckled, finding the prospect far too amusing.

“I- Well I didn’t say that I _did_ -”

“Ooooooh you _definitely_ do.” The teasing in Adam’s voice made Lawrences cheeks red, and before he could recover, Adam had already piped up with-

“ _Let’s go get tattoos.”_

“Absolutely not.”

“ _Like. Right now. Let’s go. Right now.”_

“Adam, no.”

There was an exaggerated groan from Adam’s side of the phone, followed by a laugh, then “You said you wanted to do something!” Tucking the phone between his cheek and shoulder freed up his hands, allowing one of them to reach for the television remote. Before it met its mark, Adam’s fingers hovered over a receipt, and he then knew _exactly_ what he and Lawrence could do. “You hungry?”

“At midnight?”

“At midnight.”

Lawrence must have been pondering his answer, as nothing was said for what felt like a long while. Adam, worrying that the doctor may have been second guessing his own late night adventure, decided to make up his mind for him. With this newfound burst of energy, he hopped up from the couch and maneuvered his way to his room, grabbing some clothes off the floor that he could change into. “Listen, I'm coming to get you. I have an idea. Text me your address, okay?” 

Lawrence, as Adam had suspected, _was_ indeed suffering from the beginnings of doubt. After Adam’s tattoo idea, he had no clue what the second option might have been. Clearly something involving food, but that was a _broad_ category. With a simple shrug, he responded with a dubious “Alright then. See you soon.” Then hung up the phone.

The uncertainty in Lawrence’s voice made Adam smile. 

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

An hour or so later, Adam pulled his car under the yellow lights of a grand neon sign. Lawrence’s face was blue from the cold, as the A/C refused to work, and was snuggled between approximately four layers of overly expensive “. . . fancy rich people clothes. . .” according to Adam. The younger of the pair stepped out of the car, looking up at the sign with the utmost affection, as one would gawk at a newborn puppy. Lawrence, on the other hand, who stumbled out of the passenger seat and balanced himself on some crutches, looked upon the sign with mild surprise. He had to bite his lip to suppress a chuckle. 

With an extravagant flair, Adam twirled beneath the sign, basking in the yellow glow. He took an exaggerated, deep breath, as if sniffing an exquisite platter of aged cheese. Lawrence actually _did_ chuckle then, watching the performance before Adam turned to swing the door open. Gesturing Lawrence inside, he said, in a terrible british accent- 

_“Welcome to Waffle House.”_

Lawrence went inside as fast as he could manage in order to escape the cold, nodding at Adam with an equally dramatic “Thank you, kind sir.” Adam followed closely behind, allowing Lawrence to pick where to sit in the otherwise empty restaurant. He plopped down at a booth adjacent to the bar, and Adam was soon to sit across from Lawrence, until a voice made him turn his head.

“Hey, Adam! How goes it? Long time no see!” A woman around Adam’s age waved to the two men, her other hand busy with a plate of dirty dishes. She had a friendly, round face, with a darker complexion that made her eyes look all the greener. 

“Ahhh Jenine! Same shit different day, right?” The two shared a laugh, and Adam half-lifted himself from his seat to give her a hug. She was careful to hold the pile of plates away from them, less she accidentally drag syrup across his shoulder. Adam had known her for years, but exclusively through Waffle House interactions. They had never actually _hung out._

“Same as usual then?” Asked Jenine, to which Adam nodded. “And a drink for your friend?”

Lawrence, who had been sitting silently during their exchange, perusing the laminated menu, looked up to the waitress as if caught off guard. “Oh- I’ll uh…” He did not frequent Waffle House. “A water, please.” 

With a smile, Jenine turned around and ducked behind the bar, grabbing three glasses. 

“You uh..” she began hesitantly, filling one glass with water, and the other two with Adam’s order. “You doing okay Adam? I haven't seen you since… _ya know_ …” Lawrence and Adam shot each other a worried glance. They did not want to have this sort of conversation at one in the morning- let alone, ever, really. 

“Fine! Doing great, actually.” Adam tried to shut her down quick, but with her back turned, she continued. Adam knew she meant well, but Jenine just liked to talk. Adam mouthed a worried _sorry_ to Lawrence, who had taken to bouncing his good leg. 

“Good, good! That’s good to hear! ... And what happened to... _the other one_ ? Goodness, I don’t think I could have done it... ya know...-” with her back still turned, she looked over her shoulder and at Adam, mimicking a sawing motion while lifting one of her legs. “I _definitely_ would have died. Awful business-” With practiced skill, she took the three glasses in hand and sauntered back over to the table. “- awful _awful_ business.” 

Lawrence did not look up while she set down each glass. An orange juice and a Coke were placed down for Adam, and the water for Lawrence. 

“What was his name again, the other guy? Liam? Lincoln?”

Adam, once more, feeling embarrassment rise hot and fast in his chest, tried even harder to shut her down. “You know what, it’s actually slipping my mind at the moment!” A nervous laugh did not do much to help the awkward air. “But thank you for the drinks-” He thought they might have been in the clear, but then he watched as her mouth fell agape upon noticing Lawrence’s crutches and the absence of a right foot. 

“Oh. My. God. I am so so so sorry-”

Lawrence raised a hand and shook his head, his professionalism doing what it could to hide how uncomfortable he was. “No worries, it’s really not a problem.”

“I really really need to learn to keep my mouth shut, goodness i’m sorry…”

“I mean it, don’t worry.” This came out a bit snappy, and so he offered a smile, forced as it was. Adam wanted to crawl in on himself from embarrassment. He wanted to get Lawrence _away_ from all of this shit, not drive him further into it. 

After taking a moment to compose herself, Jenine cleared her throat, straightened her posture, and hovered her pen over a yellow order sheet. “So… eat? Food- I mean- What would you…” Once more, she cleared her throat, attempting again to talk. _“What can I get you both?”_

Finally mustering up the courage to remove his hands from his face, Adam ordered much more comfort food than he had originally planned, and Jenine then anxiously waited for Lawrence. He opted for some fried eggs and a side of hashbrowns. She nodded, and relayed their order to the cook, leaving Lawrence and Adam alone for a while.

Lawrence gave him the universal _that was interesting_ stare, with wide eyes and pressed lips. Adam returned the look, taking a sip so comically big from his coke that the level inside the cup cut in half. Lawrences expression turned quizzical. 

“Two drinks?”

“Yyyyup.” Adam, demonstrating, stopped drinking the coke, and switched over to sipping on the orange juice. “The soda has that fizziness to it right?” To prove this, he, yet again, took a sip from the coke. “Then the orange juice does _not._ No fizziness. None. Zip. Zero.” With that statement in hand, he drank some more orange juice. Lawrence laughed at this, confused as to where this was going. “I, personally, don’t like an overload of _fizz_ . So whenever i’m drinking soda, I always have a non-fizzy… uh, _base,_ if you will. Orange juice, apple juice, milk-”

Clearly amused and slightly shocked, Lawrence waved his hand and stopped him mid sentence. “Waitwaitwait- You mean to tell me, you drink _milk and soda together?”_

“That’s what i’m saying, yeah!” There was a moment where Lawrence looked at Adam with playful awe, and Adam looked back at him, grinning. Though still not at his best, Adam noted how some life had returned to the doctors eyes. His cheeks weren’t as gaunt and his lips were not as blue, showing more of the pink tones to his skin. Or… was his face just especially red now? For an instant, Adam felt bad for staring- but Lawrence evidently had been staring too.

It had looked like he was about to say something, when they were both presented with their food, plate by plate. They broke their stares and thanked Jenine, then unrolled their silverware and began to eat. Though not before Lawrence had placed a napkin in his lap. Of course.

Neither of them had truly realized how hungry they were until Adam was stuffing his face with sugary bites of waffle, and Lawrence, with his fried egg, looked upon him with envy. He regretted not ordering one for himself, and decided he would the next time Jenine came around. Adam must have noticed, as he pushed one of his (three) waffles towards him. “You want one?” He took another _heavily_ syruped bite, and Lawrence shook his head. 

“Thank you, but I don’t want to take your food. I think I may ask for one in a moment.”

Light heartedly, Adam rolled his eyes. “Eat the fucking waffle. I can’t eat this all anyways.” He motioned towards the food, that was, indeed, a lot. 

With a sigh, Lawrence gave in. This proved to be a good decision on his part, as the waffle was gone within the next couple minutes. If he was being honest, he had doubted Waffle House before. He would not make that same mistake again. 

They talked some more while finishing up, and once Jenine cleared their plates, she came back with some to go drinks before asking, “Separate checks?” 

Lawrence shook his head, and spoke before Adam could even think to argue. “One check is fine, thank you.” 

“Got it, be right back.” 

“Lawrence!” Whisper-shouted Adam, now leaning partially over the table. “Tell me what I owe you.”

He dismissed Adam with a wave. “It’s not a problem, don’t even worry about it. Really.” Lawrence did not want to sound rude, so he refrained from saying _it’s just a waffle house tab_ , as he understood Adam’s financial situation was far from his own. What was pennies to him could be pounds for Adam, and he did not want to disrespect that. 

Adam pouted, stuck his hands in his pockets, and dug around for change. “At least let me leave the tip.”

“Don’t worry about it, I can write it on here.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “ _Liam_ Gordon-'' He paused to scoff, and Lawrence could not suppress a soft laugh himself. “You’ll let me leave this tip or so help me god.”

With the pen in hand, the doctor sarcastically groaned. “Fine. If you _must._ ”

Adam laid some crinkled dollars on the table, and once Lawrence’s card was given to Jenine, then returned to him, the men rose from the booth to leave. Adam was patient while Lawrence situated himself on his crutches, then ran ahead of him to open the door. Jenine waved behind them, and they both said goodbye. Even Lawrence, who, despite the nature of their first interaction, was impressed by Jenine’s otherwise charming charisma. 

Once out the door and settled in the car, Lawrence turned to Adam, who was attempting to stretch his seat belt across his chest. It was broken, and tended to jam up. 

“Thanks for getting me out of the house.” 

Adam twisted his head, staring at Lawrence again as he had across the table, with an innocent smile plastered on his face. “Yeah, don’t sweat it. I need to get out more anyway.”

“Even at-” Lawrence glanced at his wrist to gather the time. “2:02 in the morning?”

“ _Especially_ then.”

The corners of Lawrences mouth twisted upwards.

After some more struggling, Adam was finally able to buckle his seat belt, and they were soon on their way back to Lawrence’s home.

For at least that evening, the letter was as Adam had wished it. Paper and ink.


	7. Chapter 7

Three beeps and one shrill scream announced the completion of something  _ imperative _ to Adam's survival.

After a grueling two and a half minutes, his microwave velveeta mac and cheese was ready.

It was dawn, and the sky had a faint orange tint to show for it. For the nurses and stockers who were on their way to work at 6 in the morning, the sun proclaimed the start of a long day. For Adam, it meant that he had stayed up far too long. Again. He could not for the life of him get a good night's rest.

It was not for lack of trying. He would come home from any sort of odd job Carly had him doing that day, strip into boxers, and dive belly first onto the mattress he could hardly call a bed. Then, he would toss and turn, stuff a pillow in his face, toss and turn some more, and the cycle repeated. He often forgot to eat. He often forgot to shower. He often forgot the little things that one ought not to. Or, he would remember, and simply not have the energy to do anything about it.

So was the new routine.

On the days when leaving bed felt like a bigger feat than lifting a truck, Adam debated on calling a certain doctor. Ask him how  _ he _ was doing, so he could avoid overthinking about himself. Before he even attempted dialing, he would have the conversations in his head. When he did, he was himself, cracking sarcastic jokes and wrangling innuendos into any phrase or sentence he could. He would ask if Lawrence wanted to go on another late night adventure to waffle house, and he imagined him answering with a reluctant but gleeful smile. He would say something like  _ "Adam, I would love to, but I can't be out at 3am every night..."  _ to which Adam would reply with a tease, akin to " _ Yeah, figured a stuck up old doctor wouldn't want to be anyways."  _ He imagined how quickly that would get Lawrence out of the house.

As much as he wanted to call him, he hardly ever brought himself to do so. They texted often, and Adam began to figure that they each felt an obligation to check in on the other, but since their last meeting the phone calls had stopped. Neither had heard the others voice in a week, and neither could bring themselves to ask why. It was almost as if being happy, drinking orange juice in a shady breakfast restaurant at 3am, smiling back at one another, had scared them. 

Feeling peace after feeling nothing but terror was almost just as frightening as feeling the terror alone. 

Though they had not gone on any other excursions, or met in person for some time, there were other reasons besides the fear. Lawrence was thrown into a messy divorce, craving to return to work, and battling through various doctors appointments. He wanted nothing more than to have a break. To go eat lunch or to grab a coffee with someone he was beginning to consider a real friend. Adam was overworking himself to pay bills and growing scrawny from skipping meals, and he wanted exactly the same as Lawrence. Still, neither of them called.

There was the fear. There was the apprehension. There was even some anxiety, some shaking in the fingers and sweating in the palms when he thought about calling him. He attributed most of it to that damned letter. 

While he sat on the couch, mindlessly eating his microwaved meal, the guilt was heavy behind his eyes. It was not the first time he thought about it. It would not be a stretch to say he never  _ stopped _ thinking about it. About how Lawrence mutilated himself to go get help. About the screaming, the blurred vision, the gritted teeth and the growing pool of his blood. About how, even after their escape, he was preparing to suffer again to save his family and Adam along with them.  _ Lawrence was prepared to die for them before, and now, at least as far as Adam could tell, he was prepared to kill.  _

Maybe that was another reason it was so difficult to pick up the phone. 

Adam had gathered some more macaroni onto his spoon, only to have it hover in place above the cheap plastic container. His eyes were reminiscent of marbles, shiny and glazed, threatening to roll away. He was a still painting, frozen and lost in his little apartment, covered in such gentle sunlight yet consumed with such wicked grief. He hated this pitfall feeling that rendered him unable to move, unable to think of anything but the uncertainty and the pain. His chest tightened. He blinked. He had unknowingly been holding his breath.

He was dreadfully aware of what was about to happen. He had information on the Jigsaw killer, and yet, just as Lawrence was, he too was backed in a corner. Was he an accomplice to murder, or murders that were to happen? What if Lawrence was already killing for Jigsaw, and he just didn’t know? Was he just as bad as their kidnapper if he stood by while Lawrence was taking part in Jigsaws schemes? Adam could not hush his thoughts.

_ I’m just another pawn in his game. Lawrence and I both are. _

_ Or maybe I'm just a coward. Maybe I don’t deserve Lawrence’s protection. Maybe I was meant to lose, to rot away chained to a pipe.  _

Slowly, he set the little half empty container down, his gaze still vacant. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to be small. 

He lifted his feet onto the couch. He held his knees to his chest. He hid his face away beneath his arms and wrapped them tightly around himself, and his previously frozen lungs all at once were demanding for a fit of air. He gasped, he gasped and his eyes were frightening and wide and they  _ burned.  _ No matter how many times he opened his mouth to breath, he could not shake the feeling of a hand squeezing at his throat, suffocating him, muffling the onslaught of cries. 

_ It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.  _

Chanting to himself, while he shivered and his cheeks turned glossy from tears, he could not help but damn that  _ fucking bathroom _ . He damned whatever made him shake like this, and he damned whatever made  _ this _ happen over and over again, when the bloodstained tiles and the memory of metallic smells struck his consciousness like a barrage of arrows. Still, he told himself  _ it’ll pass.  _ It usually did, sometimes after minutes, sometimes longer. So he waited. While the room felt colder and everything looked farther away, he waited. 

These bouts of anxiety were happening frequently enough for Adam to develop at least some form of comfort. He had always used photography to escape. So, that’s what he did. Through the lens of a camera, the mundane can become magic and rags turn to riches.  _ Capture the scene. Perfect the lighting, the angle. Take the shot. _

While curled in on himself and wheezing each breath, he would pretend he was taking a picture. Anything that was real enough for Adam to hold on to would do. Once it was a white dog he had seen on vacation, another time, it was simply a basket of oranges.  _ Anything _ that got him distracted enough to calm down was what he clinged to. Before even registering that he had done so, his mind had already focused on an image of Lawrence.

Lawrence was bloodied and pale, and Adam had yet to escape the image of the bathroom. So he willed himself to change it, to change the shot. He took away the blood, took away the dirt, pushed back until Lawrence was as he was that morning they had dinner. He put back the color in his cheeks, he allowed Lawrence some clean clothes, those fancy suits that he liked to think cost absurd amounts of money. Then he pictured Lawrence smiling, and his lungs started to feel less like they were filled with water. 

As he added more and more details to his little imaginary shot, he saw less of the bathroom, until the shaking began to subside. He ended on a scene of Lawrence in the sun, his blue eyes bright, with nothing to plague him, and nothing to plague Adam, standing with a grin behind the camera. 

It took some time for the suffocating hand to release his throat, and it took even more for his sobs to quite entirely. Though clutching onto that image, he managed to calm himself enough to take his knees away from his chest and sit upright on the couch. 

He could not bring himself to finish the macaroni which had gotten cold, nor did he have the energy to get up and throw it away. If there was any advantage to the crying, it was that it wore him out. 

Adam let his head fall to the other side of the couch, and fell asleep to that image of the doctor, smiling and happy.

It would occur to him later that it was the first time he thought of a particular  _ person _ to help calm him down. It had always been buildings or places or animals, never someone he knew. It perplexed him, and again, he pondered calling the subject of his fictitious scene. 

He whispered the word “ _ Fuck.”  _ on repeat as the phone dialed, until the ringing stopped. After over a week of waiting, Adam finally heard that familiar and gruff voice answer. 


	8. Chapter 8

After Adam’s initial call, they resumed talking to each other on a more regular basis. In fact, they had met a few times back at the Waffle House, which seemed disconnected from the rest of their shitshow lives. For an hour or two once every couple of weeks, Lawrence and Adam were just two guys having a meal, without the weight of everything else to worry them.

Lawrence was grateful for his interactions with Adam, far and few between as they were. The tension at home was enough to drive him mad, and it was getting harder and harder to  _ sit _ and wait for things to explode. The divorce, the  _ letter, _ the doctors appointments, it was all drowning him. The only other times he felt at ease were when Allison had gone to work, and he was able to spend time with Diana.

As at odds as Lawrence and his wife were, they had agreed to at least keep things as civil as possible for Diana’s sake. She was going to therapy to help her process what she and her mother both went through, and, although Lawrence could see it was helping, he still could not forgive himself for what had happened to her. That little polaroid of Diana and Allison both, terrified and crying, kept him up at night more than the phantom pains in his leg ever could. 

It disgusted him that in order to prevent that from ever happening again, he would need to work with the very man who did it in the first place. To protect his family, he would have to betray them first. He was often sick at the thought. 

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

It had been months of waiting, physical therapy, fittings and appointments, but Lawrence was finally walking again.

It terrified him. 

He was still exceptionally unsteady and limping even with the great assistance of a burgundy cane. Though, he knew his rather successful recovery meant the thing he had been dreading most.

_ Do not worry. I will allow you time to heal, but then, I expect us to begin. You are the crucial missing piece that I need for my work. _

It was only a matter of time before  _ something _ happened. He did not know how or when Jigsaw would contact him, if he even would at all, but it had Lawrence in a constant state of paranoia.

He had returned to work, thinking it would resume some sort of normality to his disrupted routine. Instead, he was constantly looking over his shoulder, questioning every new face and cutting off conversations faster than he ever had in the past. He was charismatic per the usual Lawrence Gordon-standard, sure, though anyone who had worked with him in the past knew something was off. No one questioned it, obviously attributing his change in disposition to his experiences with the Jigsaw killer, or the divorce. No one even thought to wonder if there was another underlying cause for his distress.

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

“Lawrence! Lawrence, hello? Are you okay?  _ Can you hear me?  _ Lawrence!”

It was maybe 4 in the morning, and Lawrence had groggily answered the phone, thinking it might have been the hospital. He was on call for the evening, so it would not have come as a surprise. He was, however, alarmed to hear Adam’s voice, panicked and breathless.

“Adam?...” Rubbing at his eyes, Lawrence tried to wake himself up enough to understand what the other man was saying. Still, his voice remained slow and deep, half sunk in the sleep he had been so suddenly brought out of. “Is… everything alright?”

“ _ Are you okay.”  _ Asked Adam again, ignoring the question aimed at him.

“I’m fine, Adam.” There was a sigh of exhaustion from the doctor, and a sigh of relief from Adam on the other end. “What’s going on?”

“I just… need you to check something for me, okay?” Adam hardly waited for him to respond. “ _ Okay???” _

“Okay! Adam what is it!” Lawrence did not  _ mean _ to sound so frustrated, but he came by sleep so little that he was not fond of being woken up. Regardless, Adam wouldn't have called unless it was something important. Sleepiness and aggravation aside, worry was slowly pouring into his veins.

“Allison isn’t with you, right? And Diana is asleep?”

Lawrence had been sleeping in their guest bedroom for some time. “Yes… can you  _ please _ just tell me what this is about?” His heart was beginning to beat a little too fast for his liking.

“Just  _ listen. _ Please?” 

There was another sigh. “Alright... What am I checking?”

“I know this sounds crazy, but I need you to… god I don’t even know…”

“To… do what? Adam, what’s wrong?” He was trying to be patient, especially since the more he talked, the more frightened he sounded. Lawrence could practically hear him shaking and sweating. Something had him really worked up.

A long moment of silence heightened Lawrence’s worry, until Adam muttered in a small, scared voice “Can I… j-just come over? There’s something you need to see.”

Lawrence nearly protested, fearing repercussions should Allison wake, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. Not with how Adam sounded, stuttering like he was near tears and seconds away from fainting. 

Adam was on his way within minutes, and Lawrence was doing his best to make himself at least half presentable, slipping on some proper pajamas and lazily going through the steps to put on his prosthetic. 

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

An hour later, Lawrence opened the door to find Adam, pale in the face and clutching a little red slip of paper. Before he could even say the words “Come in-”, Adam was already in his home and furiously looking around. “Adam  _ what _ in the world is going on?”

“Your room. Which one is yours, where have you been sleeping?” Adam’s entire posture was tense, his eyes were nervously darting around and he was biting at his already bleeding lip. Something was wrong. 

Lawrence’s anxiety and confusion only rose as he led Adam to the guest room, before opening the door and stepping aside for him to walk in. He did so eagerly, and began to  _ tear the room apart. _

He upturned pillows and dug his hand underneath the mattress, tore open drawers and tossed what little clothes Lawrence had moved to the guest room aside. The doctor simply stood by, his head in his hand while Adam did…  _ whatever he was doing _ . Lawrence tried asking if he was looking for something specific, if he could help. Though Adam remained silent, crawling on the ground to look underneath the bed. 

“No monsters?” questioned Lawrence, with sarcasm and bewilderment in his voice. 

Adam, again, did not respond. He did, however, reach a hand underneath the bed, while the rest of his body seemed to freeze. Lawrence froze in tandem. He had found whatever he was looking for.

When he drew his hand back, he held another slip of paper. Blood red, just like the one he had brought in with him. His eyes had the look of a deer struck with a bullet. Lawrence’s blood ran cold. He could not see what was  _ on _ the paper, so he wobbled inside the room to try and get a look, taking great caution as to not trip on the strewn about clothes and pillows. “What is it? What is...  _ that _ , how did you-...” Gesturing towards the papers, he furrowed his brows, tense and perplexed. “How did you know  _ something was there _ ?” Silence. All Adam did was tremble while he held the two pieces of paper, next to each other like a destined pair. “Adam, you can’t call me in a panic, come over at  _ five _ in the morning, go through all my things then  _ not _ tell me what’s going on!” Even through his frustration, he kept his volume down, partly to keep Allison asleep, and partly because he was  _ genuinely _ concerned. 

Adam opened his mouth to speak, then shut it. Instead, he opted to just hand Lawrence the papers, one at a time. “This… is what was in my room.” He gave him the first. “And I… just found this one, here. I figured you would have one too… and, I guess I was right.”

With one slip in each hand, Lawrence held the papers side by side, just as Adam had done so seconds before. 

“I didn’t know how to tell you over the phone…”

Lawrence’s silence made Adam all the more uneasy, so he shifted in place, his pulse echoing in his head. 

“I'm sorry.” It was all Adam could say. 

Lawrence held the papers like a statue, appearing as if he was not breathing or blinking. He was still, in such an unsettling manner that had Adam not known he was alive, he could have figured him a standing corpse. The statue of Lawrence, exhausted by the papers, slowly took a seat on the edge of the bed.

The first, which had been in Adam’s room’ read _ “Tomorrow, the Doctor begins,-” _ The second, found in Lawrence’s room, written with the same malicious intent, was  _ “-The Photographer will follow soon after.”  _

Adam and Lawrence were silent for some time. Adam, with half teary, blue eyes, watched for any sort of reaction from Lawrence. Though he seemed distant, like the few feet separating them was truly a stretch across the open sea. The quiet was infinite and suffocating all at once, until Lawrence looked to Adam, unreadable and vacant. The somber twinge to his words is the only thing that gave his dread away.

“So…  _ he wants you too. _ ” The doctor clenched his jaw while looking at Adam, with his messy hair and loose fitting clothes. Lawrence had accepted Jigsaw’s offer to get his family and Adam  _ out _ of this mess, and now, the killer was taunting Adam as well. 

He just nodded. Overwhelmed and hearing how scared even  _ Lawrence _ was made his lip tremble. Adam did not want to cry in front of him, he never had, he had made it a  _ point _ not to. The renowned Dr Lawrence Gordon had far too much to worry about for Adam to condone burdening him with any more. Or so he thought. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Adam sounded like a wounded puppy, and plopped down to sit next to Lawrence on the bed. His legs felt too weak to stand, he felt  _ selfish _ . Lawrence was like a puppet to Jigsaw, the letter, the little red paper, it spelled it all out. Why should  _ Adam _ be worrying over something he barely understood the meaning of? 

Before Adam could berate himself any longer, a certain warmth began to wrap around his back. 

He didn’t question it when Lawrence pulled him forward in an embrace.

Adam, too full of emotions he could hardly name, wept into his shoulder as if he had needed to for weeks. He cursed, embarrassed, but Lawrence simply held him tighter. His own eyes were welling up with tears he was trying to hold back.

The two of them sat on the edge of Lawrences bed, a death sentence at their heels. Come tomorrow, Lawrence could be made an accomplice to murder and Adam was being taunted with the same fate. So they held each other, finding what comfort they could in the others warmth. 

“Adam…” Began Lawrence, hushed and strained. He remembered Adam’s face in the bathroom. How scared he looked as Lawrence left, how he screamed his name, how he pleaded with his eyes for him to stay before asking- 

_ Are we gonna be okay? _

_ I wouldn’t lie to you. _

Lawrence meant it then, and he meant it as he wrapped his arms further around Adam, whose insistent shaking had not stopped. “Adam, we’re going to be alright. Somehow… Eventually, we’re going to be alright.” 

Adam’s shaking subsided. He clung onto Lawrence’s words as if they were a golden truth, knowing full well that it might have just been ignorant hope. Reason be damned, what they needed now was hope.

The next time Lawrence looked at the clock, it was nearly six in the morning. Slowly, he drew away from Adam, and they each looked each other in the eye. They were equally exhausted. Adam spoke first, shifting himself to stand with his gaze pinning to the floor. 

“I… guess… I should... go now.” Something felt wrong about leaving Lawrence, especially now, especially knowing that tomorrow was the day that letter would come to fruition. He did not want to leave, but he had no other idea of what to do.

Lawrence cleared his throat, and without missing a beat, said “Stay here for the night.”

“What?”

“You are in  _ no _ position to be going home this late-...  _ early _ in the morning. Get some rest here, then go home when you’re ready.” Lawrence mentally cursed, wondering just how peeved Allison would be. “I’ll explain everything to Allison.”

Adam seemed to contemplate the idea, but quickly said “The  _ last _ thing I want to do is upset the wife you’re divorcing.”

“Adam. Just stay and get some rest. Allison and I may disagree on a…  _ few _ things, but she won’t bite your head off. I promise. Besides,  _ you need sleep.” _

Before Adam could refute once more, Lawrence was already up, grabbing his cane in one hand and a pillow in the other. He was half way out the door, when Adam piped up with “Where the Hell are you going?”

“... to the couch.”

“No!” Laughed Adam, smiling for the first time that evening. “What the  _ fuck _ Lawrence, if i’m staying i’m  _ not _ kicking you out of your own godamn bed.”

Lawrence smirked. “But you are staying then?”

And that was that. Adam stayed and slept through the afternoon on the couch, while Lawrence was too restless to fall asleep. He earned some harsh words from Allison when she woke, but she too let Adam sleep. Diana hardly had a chance to bat an eye before she was rushed out the door by her mom and dad for school that morning.

Lawrence had watched Allison hand Diana her lunch before his daughter skipped out the door, with mom close behind to drive her to school. Then, he saw Adam, looking more peaceful than he had ever seen him, asleep on the couch and casted in a golden light.

It was not the first time he thought about it, but he made up his mind then. This would all end with John dead. He would play nice and suffer through whatever it took, play the role of the puppet and kiss Kramer’s boots if he had to. He, and whatever was left of his work, would be gone when Lawrence was done. He would make sure of it. For his family, for Adam.

_ He would make sure of it. _


	9. Chapter 9

It was called the Venus Fly Trap.

Two metallic half shells would sit upon the victims shoulders, securely strapped to their chest and abdomen with leather binds. These halves, rusted and crude as they were, snapped shut around the wearers head with the ease of a freshly oiled hinge, encasing their face as a fly would be encased in what the machine was named after. A venus fly trap. This alone would be relatively unproblematic. Though these half shells were not empty. Within them, bolted and ironed into the curves of the metal, were at least a hundred grotesque nails on either side. Jagged edges poked up out of the halves, like rows upon rows of shark teeth, all in line and all poised to bite.

An industrial timer was embedded into the death mask, which could free the victim from the entire machine, should they possess the key. Without the key, it would tick and tick and tick  _ incessantly _ until the timer was finished and the trap sprung shut, embedding each and every one of those little nails straight into their cranium. 

Blood and Keys. That is what Lawrence began to believe was all it took to formulate a proper “Game.”

♦️♦️♦️

At first, his hands shook.

The years of medical school and surgeries seemed to abandon him. He had cruel tools and crueler intentions, wielding the scalpel with the uncertainty of a child wielding a gun. 

Jigsaw,  _ John _ , had forwarded Lawrence an address, a name, and a set of instructions. He had no option but to comply, as he had more or less so agreed to. This was to save his family, and Adam along with them. This was evil born from necessity. 

Michael Marks was the name of the man lying unconscious and at Lawrence’s mercy. He tried not to read the name on John’s instructions, to skim over the little text in some feeble effort to lessen his guilt, but he couldn’t. He stared at it, Michael Marks, Michael Marks, Michael Marks, repeating the name over and over in his head like a macabre jingle. 

The scalpel pinched at thin flesh, the skin directly below Michael Marks eye socket. The doctor hesitated. Maybe it was the dim lighting that made the room seem to spin, or maybe it was the nausea welling up inside him.  _ He wasn’t doing this. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. This was just some scary dream.  _

He brought the scalpel away from the eye, and in a fit of frustration, anger and guilt, chucked the instrument entirely across the room. With a metallic screech, it clambered against the wall and skittered down to the floor, landing back at the doctors feet. 

  
Clutching at his chest with one hand and steadying himself against the makeshift operation table with the other, the usual proud and composed doctor Gordon was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was panicked, gasping for breath and staring wide eyed at the scalpel, mocking him at his feet. He stood that way, huffing and feeling so very distant from reality, until he could waste absolutely no more time. Mr.Marks would not be asleep for much longer- and who knew the repercussions should Lawrence fail his tasks. 

He wouldn’t abandon  _ all _ of his civility. In fact, he was holding on to any left that he could. Kicking the scalpel on the floor aside, he brandished a new, clean one, sterilized with some alcohol. It was not ideal, but it was what he had to work with. The silver of its blade almost appeared green in the muted light.

Once more, blade met skin, and Lawrence concentrated to steady his hand. The more unsure he was with his work, the more Micheal Marks would inevitably suffer. It was best to do things quick and clean. Give him a fighting chance. 

Flesh gave way to metal, and Lawrence bit his tongue. A thin line of blood formed at the “u” shape being carved out from under the eye, seeping over Michael’s cheek and pooling over his eyelid. The liquid was reflective under the dim hue of the lights, closely resembling tears, and Lawrence became briefly aware of his own. Even so,  _ he had to keep going. He had to do this. _

With deathly skill, growing more confident now, he dug the blade under and inside his previous incision. He associated the movement with how a hunter would skin an animal, laying the scalpel flat against the ethmoid bone to separate sinew and skin. It was all very quiet in the room, with the silence only breaking against the suctioning and wet noises of skin slipping away neatly from bone. 

When the blood became too thick and obtrusive for Lawrence to work through, a splash of saline cleared the area, and he would continue, essentially carving a pocket beneath Micheal’s eye.

Now, this “pocket” began approximately above Michaels cheek at the incision, and delved beneath the skin to the beginning of his eye socket. This was important. It gave access to the space  _ behind _ Michael’s actual eye.

Lawrence set the now bloodied scalpel down into a metal tray. If he allowed himself any time to think, he was afraid he would stop- and so he didn’t. With nearly feral movements, he grasped at forceps that had already been clamping a key. This key had the potential to save Michael's life.

Sickening as it was, to feel the resistance when Lawrence shoved the key into the incision, he persisted. An outline of the foreign object was visible just under the skin, moving like a worm as Lawrence maneuvered it in place. Michael groaned. Without another beat passing, Lawrence shoved a wad of gauze in his mouth. It felt almost instinctual, despite the fact that something such as that would  _ never _ be appropriate in actual medicine. Accrediting it to the fact that his thoughts were mostly scattered, ignoring that bit of malpractice was the least immoral thing he had done that day. It was getting harder and harder to numb himself to the guilt. 

More and more red sputtered out as the key went deeper in. With a stomach churning  _ pop! _ , the metal slipped past the eye socket, and found its home stuck behind the eye itself. Lawrence could not tell the color of Michael’s eyes in the light. Though the one, making room for the key, strained upwards, bulging ever so slightly out of place and inviting red veins to pulse and deepen around the edges of the sclera. The skin around the incision was fading into deep purples and greens, painting the entire left side of Michaels face with bruises. Swollen and red, Michaels portrait was half the image of peaceful sleep, and half of unimaginable horror. 

John, upon reviewing the footage later, would be pleased. 

The key was in place. All that was left was to suture up the initial incision, then leave. That was all John had written in his doctors agenda for the day. One of his  _ other _ apprentices, he was told, would take things from there. 

So _ ,  _ with his last bit of terrified adrenaline, Lawrence took the curved suture needle and closed up Michaels wound, leaving the pointer finger sized key inside, with the spider-like legs of sutures sticking out. 

Dig out the key, unlock the trap, live to see another day. 

Lawrence’s stomach twisted.

♦️♦️♦️

It was not until he was six shots of vodka into drinking that he grabbed a taxi home. 

_ Seeing _ anyone he knew seemed like an effort he could not bear at the moment.  _ Pretending _ he had not just condemned a man to die was not any easier of a task on paper than it was in practice. He couldn’t talk to  _ him _ . What could he say? He was the only person who would even remotely understand what Lawrence was going through, though how could he justify burdening Adam with such vile information? 

Lawrence, wholeheartedly, assumed that after he spilt that first bit of blood, Adam would want nothing to do with him. He wouldn't blame him. Murderers and suspicious surgeons do not make the best of friends. 

Lawrence figured that it was over.

That he would never see Adam again, or, not until Jigsaw had recruited him too. 

It was over.  _ It was over _ , he repeated. He was not even sure what  _ it _ was, but he knew it was done, that Adam had every right to distance himself from all the anxiety and death while he could.

Good thing Adam was sitting on Lawrence’s couch, waiting, when he arrived by drunkenly stumbling through the front door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I last updated a few weeks ago, and to anyone either...
> 
> 1\. Potentially waiting for more, or  
> 2\. Looking for any updates regarding this 
> 
> I wanted to say i am still writing and still working on this project! I've been pretty busy and overwhelmed as of late, but I will absolutely be coming back to this sooner than later. I appreciate literally every single comment that's been left, it means so much to me that some people care about this.
> 
> If you are looking for content or wanting to discuss my particular versions of the characters, or just want to talk about saw in general, please message me! I would love nothing more than to chat! My discord is laws#8084 
> 
> Thank you so much again. More is coming soon!


	10. Chapter 10

_ “A-Adam…?”  _

Lawrence nearly fell through the door, more wobbly than a newborn foal. He was unsure on his feet even  _ without _ the drunken haze.

Adam, who had spent the last few hours frozen in place, felt his stomach flip at the sight of the woozy doctor. His under eyes were even darker than usual, giving him the look of a tranquilized animal. 

A loud crash sounded off as Lawrence lost his grip on his cane, and it clattered to the floor. He would have been soon to follow, had Adam not ran from his seat on the sofa and caught the taller man under his arms. Arbitrary and tired mumbles came from Lawrence, while Adam struggled to drag his (mostly limp) body to the couch. With a grunt, he hoisted him into a sitting position, before sitting back down himself on the opposite side of the couch. 

The scent of vodka stung Adam’s nose. 

“You’re heavy.” Exasperated, Adam sunk further into the couch, eyeing his drunken companion with concern. 

_ “Would’ve been heavier if I had two legs~”  _ Thinking his comment hilarious, Lawrence laughed, albeit tired and slowly.

Adam was far too worried to share in his laughter. He had known Lawrence for  _ months _ now. He was never one to stumble home drunk. Then again, Lawrence had never before been employed by the very same serial killer that had already caused a majority of his suffering. 

Of course Adam knew where he had been that day. Of course he knew why he was not answering calls, why he was out later than usual, why Alison had not heard from him either. She had already retired for the evening, assuming that Lawrence was out with another woman. Adam had opened his mouth to protest, to defend Lawrence. Though what could he have said? 

_ Don’t worry! Lawrence isn’t sleeping around, he’s just being forced to mutilate and maim people! I hope that sets your mind at ease, Alison. _

Lost in his jumbled thoughts, Adam had yet to notice that Lawrence’s face had turned sour. His eyes were distant and glossy as if he was staring at something frightening. 

Nervous and unsure, Adam broke the sudden silence. 

“I’m sorry Lawrence.”

Lawrence furrowed his brows and slowly turned to Adam. When he spoke, it was quiet and slurred, though he sounded more choked up than drunk. “ _ S-Sorry? _ What have yyy… you to b-be.... What are  _ you _ sorry about?”

Awful ideas of Lawrence with cruel tools came to Adam’s mind. There was the morbid image of Lawrence, composed and elegant, while he dragged a knife through a man's chest. He pictured Kramer, watching him, with the beady eyes of a goat and all the power of a king. Then came another scenario, where Lawrence’s eyes were flooded by tears, while he did the same. Either was horrible. Either brought guilt deep into Adam. 

He batted his eyes to hide how watery they had become. “I’m  _ sorry  _ you’re going through…  _ what you’re going through.” _ Adam was not sure what he could and could not say out loud, less Alison be listening from another room. “All of it.”

“Don’t be sorry…”

“But I  _ am.” _

A beat passed. Then Adam continued, while Lawrence listened halfway in a daze. 

“I  _ am, _ because I- I know that you… that you’re doing things that you  _ never _ would. And I  _ know _ it’s because of Alison, and your daughter, and I  _ know _ that you would do anything to protect them, because I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you do it before. But I also know that… that… well, I think that you’re also doing this because of me. And I don’t get it. I hate knowing that  _ you’re _ suffering because of me, and that-”

“ _ I'm not suffering because of you…” _

Lawrence’s interjection did nothing to stop Adam, who was beginning to speak faster and faster, letting things out that had been festering ever since they had received that letter. “-t-that you might be better, less stressed at least, if you didn't worry about me. I see you so stressed and worried and  _ fuck, _ and I see you _ like this, three sheets to the wind, a _ nd I know that whatever happened today must have been some _ real fucked up shit  _ that you shouldn't have to go through. And just…  _ shit man… I don’t even know what I’m saying…” _

Adam finally allowed himself to breathe. Red had shaded his cheeks, and he was back to picking at his nail beds. 

Gingerly, Lawrence spoke his name. Although awkward and uncoordinated, he sat upright and rotated his body to face Adam. His unfocused gaze focused, and his unsteady disposition steadied. Had he been sober, he would have made an effort  _ not _ to stare, as he always found himself wanting to. Though now, without his reason, nothing was holding him back from taking in the blue of Adam’s eyes. They always reminded him of sapphire, reflective and deep, even with them currently holding back tears. He noted Adam’s gentle features, the warmth in his cheeks, the way little strands of stray hair covered his forehead. And, while it was not nearly the  _ first _ time he had thought about Adam’s lips, he would not deny himself the simple treat of looking at them now, soft and complimenting the rest of Adam perfectly, like an intricate mosaic.

_ Now is not the time.  _ He thought, cursing himself.

Why now was he indulging in the sight of him? If he was being honest, he always had- at their first dinner while Adam sat across from him, with his two separate drinks and stack of waffles. Over the phone, he would picture him, with a faded flannel and baggy jeans. Even in the hospital courtyard, when the breeze had blown just enough to tussle his brown hair.

Maybe it was the drink, making him think like this. Or maybe Lawrence feared that after what he had done, he would finally lose him. Lose his voice, his laugh, his late-night talks, his smell of cheap cologne. The fear of losing the opportunity to hold him again, as he had the night before.

Adam must have noticed Lawrence’s staring. Instead of retreating further into his seat, he too was drawn to lean closer. 

Then Lawrence spoke. 

“ _ You have to start believing that you’re worth saving.” _

“Lawrence… Lawrence, you’re drunk.”

_ “I know I know I know.” _ He shushed Adam, shaking his head, mumbling some more beneath his breath. "I know I'm drunk... but I'm not... I'm not lying, I told you I wouldn't lie... I'm nnnot lying..."

Despite his words, Adam could not shake his unease. Maybe one day he'd believe Lawrence's sentiments to be true. It was simply hard to feel like anything but a burden. 

"I can see that look in your eyes, Adam..." 

Adam was taken aback. Suddenly his gaze faltered and he tried to look away from Lawrence, though he had gotten so close now that it was hard to do so. Lawrence continued before Adam could protest.

"I can see your doubt... I under-understand that this is hh-hard but-" A switch must have flicked off in his head then. Cutting himself off mid-sentence, he blinked, confused. His face twisted to look even more concerned than before, and the lines in his forehead deepened. 

" _ I don't want you to leave, Adam." _

Ice ran between them. The sadness and horror in Lawrence's voice made Adams's heart plummet even further. He felt like they were sinking into a vat of inky sludge, and they had just taken their first gulp beneath the surface. 

" _ Why would I... leave?  _ What does that... what does that even  _ mean? _ " Adam sounded hurt, like Lawrence's fear was a betrayal. The thought had not even occurred to Adam. 

"I would understand, though." Started Lawrence again, but this time, he slouched forward and reached for Adam's shoulders, clutching onto them to steady himself. He was merely inches away from Adam's face. He could feel the other man's quivering breathes on his lips. "I wouldn't expect anyone to stay, not after what I- not after  _ it. _ Not after any of it. No...  _ nonono-"  _

The muttering resumed, and Lawrence's grasp on Adam tightened until his nails were digging into his shoulders and his knuckles were turning white. Adam mirrored him, clinging to the shirt on his chest, yanking a bit just to pull him back to reality. 

"Lawrence!" Another yank and Lawrence hushed up his mumbling. "Lawrence I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere. I won't-"

" _ But you s-should. You deserve better company than a-" _

_ " _ Lawrence, you can't expect to shut up my self depreciating bullshit and then expect me to tolerate yours."

_ That _ got Lawrence's attention, and his body relaxed ever so slightly. He couldn’t argue with that.

Just as they had once before, they held each other in silence. The tension which infiltrated every bit of the air seemed to fade, although painfully slow, and the white left Lawrence's knuckles. Somewhere from the street below, a car honked and a man cursed, and the sounds of the city  _ almost _ covered the whirlwind of their thoughts. It was as if the only time they got close to peace, was when they were joined together. 

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

It was unclear how Adam's head ended up in Lawrence's lap. The two were too emotionally exhausted to process even half of what was happening, and this night was no exception. 

The room itself was silent. Lawrence had eventually settled his back against the armrest and tucked himself in the corner of the sofa, one arm supporting his neck and his other hand entangled in Adam's hair. Adam, laying on his side and resting against Lawrence, had fallen asleep first, having waited up all night for the others arrival. His hands were tucked beneath him and his lips were slightly ajar, and ironically enough, he was resting more peacefully now than he had in weeks. The same was true for Lawrence, whos eyes had just softly shut. 

The nightmares were tamed while they rested together, breathing in sync as the sun rose to meet the windows. 


	11. Chapter 11

_ “Police have identified the deceased as one Michael Marks, age 34.” _

Adams’s hand sprang towards the remote with the fever of a panicked fawn. 

“ _ This marks yet another victim of the notorious Jigsaw killer, who began his-” _

The remote felt heavy in his hands once he clicked the television off. Batting his eyes and opening his mouth wide to yawn, he lowered it back down on the table, being as soft as he could as to not make any noise. Lawrence was still asleep. Judging by the pallor in his face and the vodka left on his tongue, he would be lucky to stay that way, rather than deal with the hangover that awaited him. 

Adam had no objections to staying where he was either. Tucked against Lawrence, who was a bit bigger than he was, felt far safer than sleeping alone. Ironic as that was, considering his recent  _ activities.  _

Was Adam wrong in finding comfort near him? He knew that man on the television was not dead because of Lawrence, but because of  _ Jigsaw _ . It was easy to separate the two, at least for him. 

Lawrence was a doctor in his early forties. He was a dedicated father and a hard worker, a man who held his head high (higher in the past) and got his shit done. He had integrity, he had a purpose. Adam also thought that he was rather handsome on top of it, with his tall stature and sandy hair. 

Jigsaw, on the other hand, was a viper. He stole from the vulnerable then spat in their faces when they didn’t grovel at his knees. 

Jigsaw-  _ John _ , was a killer.

Lawrence was a man stuck between a rock and a hard place. Although… it was a tad more complex than that.

As delicately as he had fallen asleep, Lawrence’s eyes began to flutter open. His body shifted ever so slightly, and Adam did with it. 

When Lawrence came to with a groan and a yawn, he froze. His eyes shot to the left, then to the right, until he registered that he had, in fact, fallen asleep on the couch. His gaze then drifted downwards to Adam, who, still desperately trying to cling to his peace, remained resting in his lap. 

He was a gentle sight.

A hitch in Lawrence's breath brought worry into Adam.

“You okay?” 

Another groan escaped Lawrence, before a groggy “Yeah… just a little…”

“Hungover?”

“Hungover.”

Adam blinked. “Can I get you something?”

“Hm... I think I’ll make it.” The doctor smiled, despite the beginnings of a nasty headache. He was still half asleep, and, just like Adam, found himself enjoying his current predicament on the sofa. The rare occasions like these, where there was no apparent urgency or rush, were the ones they jotted down in their minds to savor. Alison was at work, Diana had been dropped off at a friend's house- it was just the two of them.

When it felt natural and right, each of them began to stir, their limbs finally feeling awake enough to function. Adam slipped his legs off the edge of the couch, and with a feline stretch, came to his feet. Lawrence followed suit, albeit with the dizzy consequences of his hangover. It did not help that he had left his prosthetic on overnight, but the soreness would pass. 

The events of the previous evening- the splicing, the needles, the blood, the sutures -it lived caged in his head like an abused animal, growling and scratching at the bars. When he blinked, he saw Michael, bruised and stiff. When his eyes opened, he saw Adam, more lively now than he had been in weeks. So he held on to his waking vision, as hard as it was to maintain.

“Lawrence?” Came Adam, who had found his way into the kitchen to grab a hangover-approved glass of water. 

“Mhm?”

“You look like shit.” Adam smiled.

Lawrence scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Thanks.” 

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

The morning went on in a tame manner. Lawrence opted to shower while Adam made them a modest breakfast of eggs and toast. After a healthy dose of Tylenol, and a brief nap, Lawrence was feeling  _ much _ better. 

Not wanting to waste away the tender peace, Adam had an idea.

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

“Where are we going?”

Adam sat behind the steering wheel with Lawrence riding passenger, wrapped in a burly trenchcoat and a green scarf. 

A cheeky grin from Adam did not answer his question. His eyes were set like a kid watching a crane machine. “Just trust me, kay?”

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

With Lawrence in mind, he tried to avoid anything that would require too much walking. So, he was thrilled to squeeze in a last-minute reservation for the two of them, for a sit down “encounter”.

Lawrence was enamored.

It was funny, with Lawrence’s fairly large hands, to see him so gently stroke the little creature that the zoo staff held out to him. 

In the zookeeper’s hand was a blonde ball of fuzz, with ears half the size of its body. It’s feet, awkwardly dainty and small in relation to its large ears, dangled down, pawing at the air in lazy protest to being held. 

“Bubba” the fennec fox was the Bronx Zoo’s angel. He never fussed or bit, clawed or growled. He was adored by the staff, by the locals, by the mass of rowdy children who poured in on field trips- and, apparently, he was adored by middle-aged surgical oncologists. 

Bubba seemed to adore Lawrence, too. Whenever he scratched between his ears, dawning a stupidly wide grin, Bubba closed his eyes and tilted his wet nose towards the source of the rubs. Adam, standing next to where Lawrence was seated, occasionally gave Bubba a pet here or there while the zookeeper went on about the diet and environment of a fennec fox. However, he was mostly just watching Lawrence.

“You two kinda match… you know, with the blonde hair and all.”

It was hard to think that Lawrence could smile any wider, but he did then. 

Adam was sure to bring his old, boxy polaroid camera with him, for situations just like this.

It was a perfect shot.  _ He _ was a perfect shot. 

Lawrence was too distracted in learning that Fennec Foxes were nocturnal creatures to see that Adam had brought out his camera. He was sly with it, considering his old line of work. Taking a step back he brought his eye to the viewfinder. 

He always relished in the integrity of a natural shot. Especially this one- he had practically  _ dreamed _ of photographing Lawrence, considering he had done it so many times in his head. As simple as it was, to Adam, this felt ethereal. 

He was looking at Lawrence’s profile. He sat neatly in the silver fold-down seat, with his legs crossed one over the other. The burgundy red cane was propped against his side, farthest from Adam. With the room itself being used as an educational center, it was well lit by large windows, allowing an abundance of light to accentuate Lawrences features. His eyes shone a brighter blue, his lips a lighter pink. His cheeks were soft and rosy, and his smile…  _ god _ his smile. Adam’s eye drifted away from the viewfinder so that he could look at the doctor with no filter, no barriers. Lawrence looked nearly too perfect, fawning over the purring fox with love pouring from his disposition. 

Adam never would have thought he’d be jealous of a fox. 

It felt like a treat for Adam to have his company, let alone immortalize the scene. Though with a quick flash, and the buzz of the shutter, he did just that. 

Bubba startled, but only until Lawrence hushed him and returned to scratching between his ears. When he turned to look at Adam, who held the camera wily at his chest, it was impossible to hide the blush in his cheeks. 

♦️ ♦️ ♦️

The 45 minute long “Animal encounter” flew by, ending much sooner than Lawrence would have liked. Adam even  _ swore  _ he saw him shed a tear as he said farewell to small Bubba, pouting while the zookeeper brought him away. 

Outside the gates of the zoo, the cacophony of the city had begun to rest. Oranges spilled across the sky like painters water, interrupted only by light clouds. Lawrence and Adam, looking like opposites in appearance, felt a sense of appropriacy together. 

There was this little smirk that Lawrence had perfected during his time as New York’s cockiest doctor. He had it then, looking at Adam, who’s dark hair seemed nearly orange under the sunset. “Thank you, Adam." Beat. "I’m serious.”

“Pshhhh-” He waved his hand dismissively, too embarrassed at Lawrence’s staring to properly accept his thanks. “It was nothing, just wanted to get you out of the house for a bit, ya know?”

Lawrence did not  _ verbally _ respond but instead made it his business to face Adam with that same dangerous smirk. 

The smaller of the men did not move away. 

“You took a picture, right?” Lawrence gestured to the camera, strapped at Adam’s shoulder. “Mind if I see it?”

“Oh!” Snapping out of a daze, Adam brought out the polaroid. There was hesitation at first. Adam thought of his photography as something more private, and was usually keen on keeping it that way. Though this occasion was different. “Of course, yeah. Go for it I mean.” He held the picture out so that Lawrence could see. The grin in the photo nearly matched the one he had now. 

“I like it.” Was what Lawrence said, and then Adam turned away just to tuck the photo back in place. 

When he looked back, he and Lawrence were nose to nose. 

Undecided breaths landed on parted lips. Lawrence was close enough to Adam to see the speckles of lighter blue around his pupils, which were dilated and deep. A violet tension pulled at them, and Adam suddenly found it much harder to breathe.

_ Come on Lawrence.  _

Thought Adam, whos gaze fluttered in curious anticipation. 

_ Come on. Fucking do it, fucking kiss me alread- _

His thoughts were cut short by Lawrence’s lips, pressing against his while his body did the same. One of Lawrence’s hands was reserved for his cane. The other was free to crawl around Adam’s waist, pull him close, and tangle eager fingers into the back of his flannel.

Adam was enthralled by the taste of him, enthralled by the scent of fancy cologne, enthralled by the way his stature puzzled against Lawrence’s. Had he had a third arm to take a picture of  _ this _ , of his flushed face and hazy eyes, of the red bliss and soft hum, he would of. Happily settling with the arms he  _ did _ have, he clung to the front of Lawrence’s coat, only noticing his need to take a breathe when his lungs began to feel tight. 

When Adam broke away for air, Lawrence, through heavy pants, swallowed hard. “If that was…  _ inappropriate _ , please forgive m-”

“Shut up.”

“Got it.” 

and Lawrence kissed him again. 


	12. Chapter 12

Their joy subsided as violently as a retreating wave, leaving both Adam and Lawrence washed up on the beach.

Lawrence was called away by an ominous text and grabbed a taxi in an awkward flurry.  _ At least a text was better than hidden red letters,  _ he figured _.  _

Adam, without many other options, drove himself back to the dusty apartment. He was buzzing with far more than just anxiety. Lawrence had assured him that, when he could, he would visit. They would see each other more. Something made that hard for Adam to believe, but he  _ wanted  _ to believe it. For now, though, it was worry worry worry, a haunting full-time job. 

♦️♦️♦️

Lawrence had the taxi drop him off a few blocks away, and walked the remainder of the distance, relying heavily on his cane.

It was the first time Lawrence had seen Jigsaw,  _ John,  _ in person since he had bargained for his escape months ago. 

A sting in the back of his throat signified his want to vomit. 

John himself had changed, and Lawrence instinctively gave him a doctor’s once over. 

Kramer’s declining health had put him in a wheelchair. The old man was more of a corpse than anything, with his lips and fingertips an odd pale blue. Passing underneath the harsh bars of overhead lighting, the sagging skin and tired eyes took on a waxy sheen, forcing him to resemble the mannequins that were littered around the workshop. White patchy hair sagged over his forehead, which sagged over his chest, his posture much like a weeping flower. It was hard to believe that  _ this dying man _ had the nation in hysteria. 

“Do you know where you are?” John asked a question, though it was very finite in nature. 

Lawrence was brief. “Yes.”

“Do you-” A cacophony of strained lungs and harsh gurgling. “Do you understand  _ why _ I have brought you here?” John noticed that Lawrence had stopped in his tracks. Without looking back, he ordered “Don’t lag behind. I need you to understand, understand as I do.”

Lawrence forced himself to push forward, using his cane to brace against the dizziness encompassing him. He was unable to tear his eyes away from the cement floor.   
  
The trail of his own blood had deepened over the months, like scorch marks after a bad car wreck. 

“Is this-” Composure was a hard thing to keep when you were walking to the room that was meant to be your grave. “Is this necessary Mr.Kramer-”   
  
“Call me John.”   
  
“Is this necessary,  _ John?” _

The doctor took a deep breath. If working for Kramer meant humoring him and his extreme ideology, then he had to play along. He needed to play along. 

Red tendrils were like arrows sunken into the cement, leading the two down towards the end of the hall. Heavy moisture clung to the air, prompting another fit of wheezing from Kramer, who felt right at home.

Finally, they stopped. Before them, shining against the industrial lights and dressed red with speckled rust, was a metal door. Even without touching it, its weight  _ looked _ immense. Solid metal led to  _ more _ solid metal, jointed by massive rivets the size of a palm. Mildew and rot made Lawrence crinkle his nose. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, opening the door.” Spoke John, gesturing to it with spider-like hands.

Lawrence hesitated. Nausea still held tight in his stomach, and sweat shined on his brow. Regardless, he had already made up his mind to play along, to become a marionette out of necessity. 

So, with a strained grunt, he slid the frame of the door to the side. Its rusted edges ground harsh against the sliding rails, and metal shrieked into the hall. 

The bathroom was mostly unchanged, which perplexed Lawrence. The police had come here to rescue Adam… how was John still even  _ using _ this space? Maybe he  _ wanted _ to be caught again? Lawrence assumed he would be ready for it, or even expecting it. He shook his head… nothing about Kramer ever made any sense, no matter how hard he tried to assign logical explanations. 

The lights were off inside the room, but the green flickering from the hall shined with just enough dull effort to illuminate the blood. Even without the light, the scent of decay was poignant enough for Lawrence to be encumbered with dread. 

He could see, in the far corner of the room, where Adam’s shackle had been cut, likely with some industrial tool from EMS. Smears of burgundy red blended on the muddy tile in dark swatches, where Adam had killed that man.  _ What was his name?  _ He could not remember. Maybe he never learned it, or maybe, he was too overwhelmed to recall it at that moment. The broken toilet lid that Adam  _ used _ still laid flat in the dried puddle. The man’s body, much to Lawrence’s relief, had been removed. 

Although he  _ knew _ what scene was closest to him, near the corner where he stood, he kept his gaze away from it. He did not need to see the mess of blood or the bits of bone that stuck between the ridges of the rusted hacksaw. He knew what it looked like well enough, so much so that he could chart every individual splatter of blood on a paint by number, with his eyes _ closed. _ It was a product of his nightmares and flashbulb memories. 

John waited for some time before his coarse voice uttered another word. First, he wanted to observe his prodigy, see how he reacted when faced with the moment that changed his life.  _ Saved _ his life, according to John. “You left your  _ old _ self, your  _ diseased  _ self, in this room, Dr.Gordon. Do you see?”   
  
“Please-” began Lawrence, who was putting on the best show of composure he could muster.

“-Feel free to call me Lawrence.”

♦️♦️♦️

Adam made his way up the shoddy stairs of his apartment complex with the lyrics of  _ Head Like a Hole _ blaring at full volume from his earbuds. It functioned as a half-decent distraction, at least.

The sludge of emotions Adam was experiencing was far too much for him to work through sober. Was he elated, or betrayed? Excited, or terrified? The day had been wonderful! Though where was Lawrence now? Did it matter? Did it change things? 

Did any of the questions ease the twitterpated skip to his step? 

For as frightened as Adam was, he was not about to deny himself the remaining joy. This was a  _ win _ that he wished to relish in, even if only for a moment. 

He permitted himself a smile. He opened his apartment door. He removed his ear buds.

His moment to relish in, truly, was merely a moment. His smile flipped, as did his stomach.

“Who the  _ fuck _ are you.” 

On Adam’s couch, lounging with his feet up on the table, was a man he was sure he had never met in his life. The stranger was an uninvited scowl in a suit. The stranger, who seemed entirely unphased by Adam’s arrival back home, simply tilted his head to the side. There was no discernable emotion on his face, rather, an aura of malice and apprehension. 

Adam stood resolved at the door frame. Once more, “Who. In the ever-loving  _ fuck _ . Are.  _ You.” _

_ “ _ Close the door.” The stranger barked the demand with no patience or room for questioning.

Adam was usually not one to listen to angry men who broke into his home. Though this particular angry man had just pulled a gun from his waistband, so he felt, on this occasion, compelled to listen. 

He closed the door.

“Good.” A twinge of arrogant satisfaction. “Now sit down.”

Adam sat. The armchair, adjacent to the stranger, squeaked as he did. He flinched. 

“You’re Adam then?” 

Silence. The stranger scoffed. 

“I don’t remember you being this skinny.”

Adam finally spoke up, through gritted teeth. “ _ I don’t know you.” _

“No no no, of course not.” The stranger jabbed a finger in his direction, clicking his tongue. ” _ You _ don’t know  _ me.”  _ Taking a moment to readjust, he took his feet off the coffee table and sat up. The pointing was then redirected back to himself. _ “I _ know  _ you.  _ You and your little doctor friend, Lawrence.”

If it wasn’t for the shock, Adam would have been a sobbing mess. A stress-induced auto-pilot was all that was keeping him afloat. “What is this… w-what do y- what do… w-who are-”   
  
“Calm the fuck down...  _ Jesus Christ…”  _ A hand pressed to his temple while he shook his head. Compassion, seemingly, was not a trait this stranger would flaunt. “What is this? A recruitment. Who am I? Mark Hoffman, nice to meet you…  _ again _ .” The unenthused and excruciatingly annoyed tone made Adam wince. “What do I want? For you to stop sniveling-” 

“Sniveling?” Interjected Adam. “Maybe it has something to do with the gun you have pointed at my-”

“ _ Do you think snide remarks are going to go well for you right now, Adam?” _

Adam gulped. His autopilot was not doing a very good job.

The stranger’s short temper was evident by the red in his cheeks and in the way his fingers had balled into fists. Nearly black hair, parted down the middle, fell out of place over piercing blue eyes. His lungs huffed like an enraged bull, and Adam made another ill decision.    
  
“What’s got you so upset?” A playful smile bore back at the man. “If anything, I should be huffing and puffing-  _ you _ broke into  _ my _ home.”

Adam’s nervous energy had a tendency to go one of two ways; It shut him down completely or made him cope through poorly timed jabs. 

The stranger, or  _ Mark Hoffman, _ as he had lazily introduced himself as, narrowed his eyes into reptilian slits. “Look-” Standing up from the couch, he loomed over Adam. “I came here to send a message,  _ in person _ , because I was told to do so.”

This reeked of Jigsaw from the start.  _ Here comes the punchline _ , thought Adam. Maybe one day he’d get a chance to actually breathe. 

“Kramer wants your photographing skills for his  _ games _ .” Continued Hoffman. “He seems to like your boyfriend enough, and now he wants your help too.”

_ Jealousy.  _

_ That _ was the unplaceable glower Hoffman had had the entire encounter.  _ Why? What was he jealous of? _

He went on to explain who he was, giving Adam some much-needed context. He was a homicide detective, working on the Jigsaw case from the inside out. He was as much the brain as he was the brawn on Jigsaws little team, and he made sure to clarify that. Apparently, there was another  _ apprentice _ too, as Hoffman had referred to them and himself as. A woman, who had aided in Adam’s own trap. His blood ran colder than it already was. 

Continuing, Hoffman explained Lawrence’s job too, how he was vital for traps involving procedures and the skills of a medical expert. It all sounded so far away to Adam, and yet, deathly close.

“And that leaves,  _ you.”  _ More hints of jealousy. “John needs you to do the recon we don’t have time for, while we’re busy doing the  _ actual _ work.” Hoffman plopped back down on the couch. “Understand?”

While Adam had always felt involved  _ through _ Lawrence, this direct invitation into the lying, the killing, the malice, the deceit… it suddenly became all the more real. 

The dryness in his mouth nearly prevented the words from leaving his mouth. “And, if I, as rational fucking person, say no?”

Hoffman laughed. 

“You haven’t been paying attention, have you, Adam?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit sloppy, I've been pushing through some mad writer's block lately. (This chapter may be scrapped or re written entirely, honestly)
> 
> I know in the movies Hoffman has no clue Lawrence exists, but as in the past, I'm changing some of the canon. I really want to see some of the apprentices interacting, and that'll likely come in the future.
> 
> Thank you again to anyone whos been sticking with this, even though updates are slow. Your comments mean the world to me. <3

**Author's Note:**

> My good friend and I were watching the series from start to finish, and were both heartbroken (as always) whenever we were reminded that Adam was dead. If theres one thing we can all agree on when it comes to saw, its that Adam should be alive.
> 
> At some point during our marathon, my friend made a comment similar to "What if Adam took all the pictures", in reference to all the photographs you see throughout the movies. This fic explores exactly that idea. So, here, we have both Lawrence and Adam as apprentices of sorts. 
> 
> Im really hoping to stick with this project. I have a bad habit of abandoning pieces part way through, but I really love this pair and am hoping to write something at least half way entertaining. Please feel free to message me with any questions, comments or concerns! Thanks for stopping by, and I hope you enjoy.


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